1V1 


s.  CLEMENTS 

prr    ;  WAV 

JQILA, 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


Dr.  &  Mrs.  Francis  Smith 

donor 


3   1822  01195  9244 


/  1~t  S 


ex.1)  - 


MR.    PRATT'S 
PATIENTS 


S 


"  'I  can  see  a  great  many  things,  Mr.  Pratt,'  says  she.1 


Mr.  Pratt's 


By  Joseph  C.  Lime*- to 


Author  of 

"Mr.  Pratt, "    "  The  Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine, ' ' 

<am 

"  Cap'n  Warren's  Wards,"    "  Cap'n  Kri," 
Etc. 


With  Four  Illustrations 
By  HOWARD   HEATH 


A.   L.    BURT  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 

1, 


COPYRIGHT,  1013,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"*I  can  see  a  great  many  things,  Mr.  Pratt,'  says 
she." Frontispiece 

'"  Colonel/   says   I,  'how'd  you  like  another  ham 

sandwich?"' no 

'"Are  you  the  new  minister?' she  says."      ....     248 
"'I  guess  I  can  answer  that,  Emeline,' he  said."   .     .    320 


MR.   PRATTS   PATIENTS 


CHAPTER    I 

I  WAS  having  my  fortune  told.  Sophrony  Gott 
was  telling  it,  with  tea  leaves.  She  had  drawn 
off  the  tea  and  was  shaking  the  leaves  in  the 
bottom  of  the  cup  around  in  circles.  After  she'd 
shook  for  a  minute  or  so  she  drained  off  what  little 
tea  there  was  left  and  then  stared  solemn  at  the 
leaves.  I  stood  by  the  kitchen  window  looking  out 
at  the  yellow  sand  strip  that  they  call  a  road  in 
East  Trumet.  'Twas  early  June,  the  new  grass  was 
flourishing  everywheres,  the  posies  in  the  yard — 
peonies  and  such — in  full  bloom,  the  sun  was  shin 
ing,  and  the  water  of  the  bay  was  blue,  with  light 
green  streaks  where  the  shoals  showed.  It  was  a 
mighty  fine  afternoon  and,  by  all  that  was  fitting, 
I  ought  to  have  felt  like  a  yacht  just  off  the  ways. 
But  I  didn't.  I  felt  like  an  old  hulk  just  ready  to 
be  towed  in  and  broke  up  for  junk.  For  the  first 

I 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

time  in  my  born  days  I  was  out  of  a  job.  Me,  Solo 
mon  Pratt — only  fifty-odd  year  old  and  used  to 
scratching  for  a  living  since  I  was  knee  high  to  a 
horse-foot  crab !  Out  of  a  job ! 

Sophrony  give  the  tea  leaves  and  her  head  an 
other  shake.  Fur's  that  was  concerned,  she  shook 
all  over,  being  terrible  big  and  fleshy.  Adoniram, 
her  husband,  drifted  in  through  the  doorway  and 
stood  looking  at  her,  interested  as  could  be.  It 
always  interested  Adoniram  to  see  somebody  else 
doing  something. 

"Well!"  says  Sophrony,  solemn,  "I'd  have 
scarcely  believed  it.  There's  a  whole  lot  here,  Mr. 
Pratt.  I  can  see  a  lot  of  things  in  this  cup." 

Adoniram  thought  'twas  time  for  him  to  say 
something,  I  cal'late.  He  most  likely  judged  that 
I  was  finding  fault  with  his  wife's  table  board. 

"That's  nothing,"  says  he,  cheerful.  "Them  ac 
cidents  are  li'ble  to  happen  anywheres.  Sol  won't 
blame  you  for  that,  Sophrony.  Why,  one  time,  over 
to  Peleg  Ellis's,  I  was  eating  a  piece  of  pie  and  I 
see " 

I  never  found  out  what  'twas  he  saw.  Maybe  it's 
just  as  well.  I  was  born  with  a  pie  appetite;  it's 
one  of  my  few  natural  gifts,  as  you  might  say,  and 
I'd  hate  to  lose  any  of  it.  Anyhow,  Adoniram 
hadn't  got  any  further  than  "  see  "  when  Sophrony 

2 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

swung  round  in  her  chair  and  looked  at  him.  You 
wouldn't  have  believed  a  body  could  shut  up  the  way 
he  did  and  leave  his  mouth  standing  open. 

His  wife  kept  on  looking  until  he  shut  even  that. 
Then  she  turned  to  me. 

"I  can  see  a  great  many  things,  important  things, 
in  this  cup,  Mr.  Pratt,"  says  she,  dignified. 

"That's  good,"  says  I.  "You  don't  see  a  fifteen 
dollar  a  week  job  down  in  the  no'theast  corner,  do 
you?" 

"No,"  she  says.  "No — o,  not  exactly.  And  yet 
there's  money  here,  a  lot  of  money." 

"That  would  do  on  a  pinch,"  says  I,  sarcastic. 
"If  I  had  the  money  maybe  I  could  manage  to  worry 
along  a  spell  without  working  for  it.  I  never  tried 
the  experiment,  I'm  free  to  confess,  but  I'd  chance 
it  just  now.  Never  mind  the  job,  Mrs.  Gott;  just 
keep  your  eye  on  the  money.  Say,  there  ain't  a 
crack  in  that  tea  cup,  is  there?" 

She  didn't  pay  any  attention.  Fur's  jokes  was 
concerned  she  was  an  ironclad  old  frigate.  A  comic 
almanac  man  might  have  practiced  on  her  all  day 
and  never  dented  her  broadside. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on,  "there's  money  here.  And 
a  letter.  I  seem  to  see  a  letter  with  good  luck  in  it. 
You  ain't  expecting  any  letter,  are  you,  Mr.  Pratt?" 

"No,"  says  I.  "My  girl's  gone  back  on  me,  I'm 

3 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

afraid.  Took  up  with  a  handsomer  man,  I  sup 
pose — if  there  is  such  a  person  living.  Don't  seem 
hardly  possible,  does  it,  Adoniram." 

But  Adoniram  was  as  solemn  as  his  wife,  just 
then.  Solemn,  and  a  little  mite  excited. 

"Why,  Sophrony,"  says  he,  "don't  you  suppose 
that  means " 

"Don't  interrupt  the  reading." 

"But,  Sophrony,  I  was  only  going  to  say " 

"Be  still.  Yes,  Mr.  Pratt,  the  lucky  letter's  there ; 
I  can  see  it  plain.  And  there's  a  journey;  you're 
going  to  take  a  journey." 

"Humph!  I  hope  'tain't  a  long  one.  Walking's 
all  right,  fur's  it  goes,  but  I'd  just  as  soon  it  wouldn't 
go  too  fur.  There  ain't  any  railroad  ticket  under 
them  tea  grounds,  is  there?" 

"No.  .  .  .  Let  me  see."  She  took  a  spoon  and 
poked  around  in  the  cup  with  the  handle  of  it.  "Let 
me  see,"  she  says  again.  "Why,  what's  this?  I  can 
see  two  spirits  hovering  over  your  life;  one's  dark 
and  the  other's  light.  They're  going  to  have  con- 
sider'ble  influence.  And  here's  two  men.  One  of 
'em's  a  sort  of  thin  man  with — with  kind  of  thick 
hair,  and  the  other's  a — a " 

"A  thick  man  with  kind  of  thin  hair,  hey?"  I  fin 
ished  for  her.  "Well,  all  right;  I  wouldn't  bother 
any  longer  if  I  was  you,  Mrs.  Gott.  You've  found 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

more  in  that  cup  already  than  the  average  person 
could  dredge  out  of  a  wash-boiler.  If  you'll  excuse 
me  I  cal'late  I'll  trot  along  and  see  if  I  can  locate 
any  of  that  money." 

"But  you  haven't  heard  it  all.  There's  lots  more. 
I  can  see  a  bottle — that  means  sickness." 

"Maybe  it  has  something  to  do  with  the  spirits; 
hey,  Adoniram?" 

"No,  it  ain't.  Adoniram,  you  be  still.  It  means 
sickness.  You're  going  to  be  mixed  up  with  sickness, 
Mr.  Pratt." 

"Going  to  be!    Have  been,  you  mean!" 

"And  here'j  a  dark  blot — that  means  trouble.  I'll 
stir  it  a  little,  and " 

"No,  you  won't.  I  don't  need  anybody  to  stir  up 
any  more  trouble  for  me.  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged 
to  you,  Mrs.  Gott,  but  I  must  be  going.  Morning, 
Adoniram." 

I  was  on  my  way  to  the  door  when  Adoniram 
got  in  my  way.  He  was  so  excited  that  he  actually 
forgot  to  be  scared  of  his  wife,  which  is  saying  some 
thing. 

"The  letter!"  he  says.     "The  letter,  Sol!" 

"Yes,"  says  I.  "Well,  when  I  get  it  I'll  let  you 
know.  Don't  hinder  me  now." 

I  brushed  past  him  and  went  out  on  the  front 
piazza.  There  I  stopped.  After  all,  I  hadn't  much 

5 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

of  anywheres  to  go.     I'd  been  about  everywheres 
in  that  neighborhood. 

That  winter  and  spring  was  the  worst  I'd  ever  put 
in.  A  chap  named  Eleazir  Kendrick  and  I  had 
chummed  in  together  the  summer  afore  and  built  a 
fish-weir  and  shanty  at  Setuckit  Point,  down  Orham 
way.  For  a  spell  we  done  pretty  well.  Then  there 
came  a  reg'lar  terror  of  a  sou'wester,  same  as  you 
don't  get  one  summer  in  a  thousand,  and  blowed  the 
shanty  flat  and  ripped  about  half  of  the  weir  poles 
out  of  the  sand.  We  spent  consider'ble  money  get 
ting  'em  reset,  and  then  a  swordfish  got  into  the 
pound  and  tore  the  nets  all  to  slathers,  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  squiteague  season.  We'd  no  sooner 
got  that  fixed  than  Eleazir  was  took  sick  with  some 
thing  that  the  doctors  couldn't  label  for  much  as  a 
fortni't.  Time  they  decided  'twas  walking  typhoid, 
brought  on  by  eating  sp'iled  clams,  I'd  got  it,  and 
mine  wa'n't  the  walking  kind  by  as  much  as  two 
trots  and  a  gallop.  'Twas  January  afore  I  cared 
whether  school  kept  or  not,  and  mid-winter  afore 
I  could  do  anything  the  way  a  healthy  man  ought 
to,  except  cuss.  Then  the  doctors,  and  the  nurses 
they'd  hired  when  I  was  too  crazy  to  stop  'em,  had 
run  up  a  bill  that  was  higher  than  our  weir  poles, 
enough  sight — for  the  ice  had  come  into  the  bay 
and  scraped  every  last  one  of  them  out  to  sea. 

6 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

In  March  Eleazir  and  me  got  together — we  was 
so  thin  that  we  had  to  hug  each  other  to  make  a 
lump  big  enough  to  cast  a  shadow — and  decided  we'd 
give  Setuckit  another  try.  We  had  just  enough  cash, 
after  paying  the  doctors'  bills,  to  buy  stuff  for  a  new 
weir;  but  Coxton  and  Bragg,  the  fish  dealers  up  to 
Boston,  owed  us  a  good  deal,  so  we  didn't  call  our 
selves  poorhouse  candidates,  exactly.  We  built  the 
weir,  caught  seven  hundred  barrel  of  mackerel  inside 
of  a  month,  and  shipped  'em  to  the  Coxton  and 
Bragg  folks.  Then  the  mackerel  stopped  running 
and  Coxton  started.  He  run  to  South  America  or 
somewheres,  taking  the  heft  of  the  firm's  money  with 
him.  Bragg  had  enough  reserve  on  hand  to  fail 
with,  and  he  done  it.  Eleazir  and  I  set  down  in 
the  sand  and  looked  at  the  empty  weir  and  counted 
our  fingers.  They  was  all  we  had  to  count. 

Well,  we  counted  till  May.  Then  we  drawed  lots 
to  see  who'd  stay  by  the  weir  and  who'd  go  hunting 
some  other  job.  I  lost — or  won,  whichever  way  you 
look  at  it — and  'twas  me  that  went.  I'll  never  forget 
Kendrick's  parting  remarks. 

"So  long,  Sol,"  he  says.  "Think  of  me  down 
here  on  the  flats  with  a  typhoid  appetite  and  nothing 
to  satisfy  it  but  the  clams  that  made  me  sick  in  the 
first  place.  It's  what  you  might  call  the — the  flat- 
irony  of  fate,  ain't  it?" 

7 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He  was  a  real  droll  feller,  with  some  consider'ble 
education,  and  was  always  making  jokes  like  that. 
I  liked  Eleazir;  we  got  along  first  rate  together. 

The  first  place  I  headed  for  after  leaving  Setuckit 
was  the  Old  Home  House  at  Wellmouth  Port.  My 
catboat,  the  Dora  Basselt,  was  still  in  commission— 
Coxton  and  Bragg  hadn't  got  her  away  from 
me — and  I  thought  maybe  I  could  get  the  chance 
of  running  party  boat  for  the  hotel — taking  out 
boarders  on  fishing  and  sailing  cruises,  you  under 
stand.  'Twould  be  only  a  summer's  job,  if  I  got 
it,  but  a  summer  job  is  a  heap  better  than  no  job. 

I  didn't  get  that  party  boat  job  for  the  same  rea 
son  that  Abel  Simmons  stayed  an  old  bach.  Abe 
used  to  say  that  he'd  have  got  married  two  or  three 
times  if  no  had  meant  yes.  If  another  skipper  hadn't 
signed  up  with  the  Old  Home  folks  in  April,  I  might 
have  signed  in  June.  As  'twas,  I  got  a  lot  of  sym 
pathy  and  a  five  cent  cigar  to  pay  me  for  my  trip. 
I  didn't  really  appreciate  the  sympathy  till  I  started 
to  smoke  the  cigar. 

I  put  in  another  week  cruising  from  Provincetown 
to  Ostable,  but  'twa'n't  no  use.  An  able-bodied  ty 
phoid  relic  by  the  name  of  Solomon  Pratt  seemed 
to  be  about  as  much  in  demand  just  then  as  a  fiddler 
at  a  funeral.  Finally  I  drifted  around  to  East 
Trumet  and  hired  a  room  on  the  hurricane  deck  of 

8 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Sophrony  Gott's  boarding  house.  Sophrony  kept 
hens  and  a  pig  and  two  or  three  boarders  and  a  hus 
band.  I  mention  'em  in  that  order  because  that's 
the  way  they  was  rated  on  the  ship's  books,  the  hens 
first  and  the  husband  last.  Adoniram,  the  husband, 
was  little  and  thin.  The  hens  didn't  have  any  special 
names,  but  they  was  big  and  fat  like  Sophrony.  Me 
and  the  other  boarders  averaged  in  between  the  pig 
and  Adoniram.  And  at  Sophrony's  I  stayed,  feeling 
the  tide  going  out  in  my  pocketbook  every  day  and 
my  pluck  going  along  with  it.  I  was  bluer  than 
a  sp'iled  mackerel  and  all  hands  noticed  it.  That's 
why,  I  cal'late,  that  Sophrony  took  the  notion  of 
telling  my  fortune.  She  thought  'twould  brace  me 
up,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  It  didn't;  'twould  have 
taken  something  a  plaguey  sight  stronger  than 
boarding-house  tea  to  do  that. 

I  came  out  of  that  setting-room,  as  I  said,  and 
stood  there  on  the  piazza,  looking  at  nothing  in  par 
ticular — which  is  all  there  is  to  look  at  in  East 
Trumet,  and  thinking  hard.  What  should  I  do? 
I'd  got  to  do  something,  but  what? 

And,  as  I  stood  there,  I  heard  the  biggest  sort 
of  pow-wow  bust  out  in  the  house  behind  me.  I 
hadn't  more'n  swung  round  on  my  anchor,  as  you 
might  say,  when  the  door  flew  open  and  Sophrony 
Adoniram  hove  in  sight  under  full  steam.  The 

9 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

doorway  was  like  them  in  most  Cape  houses,  not 
any  too  wide,  and  they  both  tried  to  get  through  it 
at  the  same  time.  'Twas  a  mistake  in  judgment, 
on  Adoniram's  part,  anyhow.  One  of  these  summer 
boy's  canoes  trying  to  shove  an  iceberg  out  of  the 
channel  wouldn't  have  been  wrecked  any  quicker  than 
he  was.  He  went  up  against  the  port  door  jamb 
with  a  smash  that  a  body'd  think  would  have  stove 
in  his  poor  little  timbers,  and  his  wife  swept  out 
into  the  fairway  without  even  rocking.  There  is 
some  advantage  in  being  built  broad  in  the  beam. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pratt!"  says  Sophrony. 

"Ugh!"  says  Adoniram. 

Then  they  both  said  something  about  a  letter. 

"It's  here,"  says  Sophrony.    "It's  here,  Mr.  Pratt. 

I  didn't  think  of  it  till " 

'Twas  me  that  thought  of  it  first,"  puts  in  her 
husband,  gasping  but  game.  "When  she  see  that 
in  the  tea  cup  about " 

"And  all  at  once  it  come  to  me.  I  don't  know 
what  made  me  think  of  it,  but " 

"I  do.    /  made  you.    I  says  to  you,  says  I " 

"Here!  here!  hold  on!"  I  interrupted.  "You 
sound  like  one  of  them  choir  anthems  in  church. 
Make  it  a  solo,  can't  you?  What's  the  matter?" 

"Why,  you  see "  begins  Adoniram. 

"Be  still,"  orders  Sophrony.     "Mr.  Pratt'll  think 

10 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

you're  crazy.  Mr.  Pratt,  it's  the  most  amazing 
thing.  When  I  saw  that  letter  for  you  in  the  tea 
leaves  I  never  thought  of  the  mantel-piece.  It  had 
been  there  for  three  or  four  days,  too.  You  hush 
up,  Adoniram!  Can't  you  let  me  tell  him?" 

"Well,  you  be  telling  him,  ain't  you.  All  I  can 
see  you've  told  so  far  is  that  the  mantel-piece  has 
been  there  three  or  four  days." 

"Not  the  mantel-piece !  The  idea !  The  mantel 
piece  has  been  there  ever  since  the  house  was  built. 
It's  the  letter,  Mr.  Pratt.  It  came  three  or  four 
days  ago.  You  was  away,  over  to  Wellmouth  or 
somewheres,  and  so  we  put  it  behind  the  clock. 
'Twa'n't  till  just  this  minute  that  I  remembered  it." 

"You  wouldn't  have  remembered  it  then  if  I 
hadn't  gone  and  got  it,"  says  Adoniram. 

He  may  have  been  the  one  that  got  it  first,  but 
'twas  his  wife  that  had  it  now.  She  gave  it  to  me 
and  the  two  of  'em  stood  close  alongside  when  I 
started  to  rip  open  the  envelope.  I  don't  patronize 
Uncle  Sam's  mails  to  any  great  extent,  but,  gen 
erally  speaking,  a  letter  for  me  wasn't  such  a  miracle 
as  all  this  fuss  amounted  to.  'Twas  account  of  the 
fool  fortune-telling  business  that  they'd  got  so  ex 
cited.  If  you  believe  that  the  past,  present  and 
hereafter  can  be  strained  out  of  a  teapot  you  can 
get  excited  over  anything.  I  could  hear  Adoniram 

ii 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

breathing  hard  close  at  my  weather  ear  and  So- 
phrony  was  saying:  "It's  a  lucky  letter.  It'll  bring 
you  luck,  now  you  see!" 

There  was  only  one  sheet  of  paper  in  the  en 
velope.  This  was  a  bill  for  eighteen  dollars  and 
forty  cents  for  some  canvas  and  a  new  anchor  and 
some  running  rigging  for  the  Dora  Bassett  that  I'd 
bought  of  old  man  Scudder  over  at  Wapatomac  the 
fall  afore  I  was  took  sick.  I'd  paid  for  it,  too;  but, 
like  an  everlasting  idiot,  I  hadn't  took  any  receipt. 
And  now  here  was  a  bill  with  "Please  Remmit"  on 
it  in  red  ink,  and  underlined  at  that.  A  bill  for 
eighteen  dollars;  and  I  had  less  than  twelve  in  my 
pocket!  This  was  the  "luck!" 

About  an  hour  later  I  was  setting  in  the  stern  of 
the  Dora  Bassett  bound  for  Wapatomac.  Why  was 
I  going?  I  didn't  know  scarcely;  and  yet  I  did,  too. 
I  was  going  to  talk  Dutch  to  Nate  Scudder.  Not 
that  'twould  do  any  good.  He'd  swear  blue  that 
I'd  never  paid  him,  and  I  didn't  have  a  scrap  of 
writing  to  prove  that  I  had.  He'd  threaten  to  sue 
me,  probably.  All  right;  the  way  I  felt  just  then 
he  might  have  something  real  to  sue  for  after  we 
got  through  with  our  talk.  The  low-down  swindler ! 
What  did  he  think  I  was ;  a  fool  summer  chap  from 
the  city? 

You  think  it's  queer,  may  be,  that  I  didn't  write, 

12 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

instead  of  cruising  that  distance.  If  it  had  been  any 
body  else  I  would  have  wrote,  but  not  to  Nate.  I 
knew  him  of  old.  No,  the  more  I  thought  of  the 
trick  he  was  trying  to  play  me  the  madder  I  got, 
and  the  quicker  I  wanted  to  tell  him  what  I  thought 
of  him.  So  I  asked  Sophrony  to  put  up  a  snack  for 
me  to  take  along  for  supper,  and  marched  straight 
down  to  the  shore. 

Adoniram  went  with  me,  fur  as  the  dock.  I 
hadn't  told  him  nor  his  wife  what  was  in  that  "lucky 
letter,"  and  he  was  just  bubbling  over  with  the  won 
der  of  it  all.  He  talked  a  steady  streak  every  foot 
of  the  way  and  all  the  time  while  I  was  casting  off 
and  making  my  skiff  fast  astern,  and  the  like  of  that. 
I  tried  not  to  pay  attention  to  his  clack,  but  he  made 
me  nervous,  just  the  same.  The  "letter"  part  of 
the  fool  fortune-telling  coming  true,  as  he  saw  it, 
had  gone  to  his  head  and  made  him  drunk,  as  you 
might  say.  He  kept  preaching  over  and  over  what 
a  wonderful  woman  Sophrony  was. 

"You  know  she's  a  Spiritu'list,"  he  says.  "She's 
way  up  in  Spiritu'lism.  Sort  of  a — of  a  clair- 
voyum,  that's  what  she  is.  She  can  see  spirits  just 
the  same  as  you  and  me  can  see  humans.  That's 
how  she  saw  them  two  hovering  over  you  in  the 
tea  cup,  Sol.  And  the  spirits  can  see  her." 

"Don't  have  to  put  on  their  specs  to  do  that,  I 

13 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

cal'late,"  says  I.  "There's  enough  of  her  for  a  blind 
spook  to  see  in  the  dark." 

"You  don't  understand,"  he  says.  "She's  a  clair- 
voyum,  I  told  you.  Suppose  you  wanted  to  talk  to 
your  grandmarm,  say " 

"I  don't,"  I  cut  in.    "Nor  anybody  else  just  now." 

That  ought  to  have  shut  him  up,  but  it  didn't.  He 
never  could  see  a  point  until  after  he'd  set  on  it. 

"But  if  you  did,"  he  says,  "you'd  go  to  her  and 
pay  her  a  little  something — fifty  cents  or  so,  maybe — 
and  then  she'd  go  into  what  they  call  a  trance. 
Wouldn't  speak  a  word  for  much  as  five  minutes." 

"Godfreys!"  says  I,  "you  don't  mean  it!  It's 
wuth  the  money,  ain't  it.  You  don't  ever  take  a 
trance,  do  you,  Adoniram?" 

"No,  I  ain't  got  the  gift.  I  wish  I  had.  But 
Sophrony's  got  it.  When  she's  in  one  of  them 
trances,  and  there's  somebody  there  that  the  spirits 
want  to  talk  to,  they  come  and  talk  to  'em  through 
her." 

"Want  to  know!  All  the  way  through?  Have 
to  holler  some,  don't  they?" 

'Twas  no  use.  He  went  gassing  along,  and  the 
only  relief  I  got  was  when  the  engine — the  two-and- 
a-half  horse  power  motor  I'd  put  into  the  Dora 
Bassett  when  cash  was  something  more  to  me  than 
a  typhoid  memory  or  a  tea-leaf  hope — got  gassing, 

14 


MR.    PKATT'S    PATIENTS 

too.  And  even  then  he  wa'n't  quite  through.  As 
I  swung  out  of  the  dock  and  got  the  boat's  nose 
headed  for  the  bay,  he  commenced  to  holler  again. 

"Oh,  Sol!"  he  sung  out.  "Oh,  Sol!  Hold  on  a 
minute !  I  just  thought  of  something !  I  bet  you 
ain't  thought  of  it  neither!  You  know  what  you're 
doing?" 

I  might  have  told  him  I  was  trying  to  get  away 
from  a  graduate  of  the  feeble-minded  school,  but 
I  didn't.  I  just  looked  at  him  over  my  shoulder. 

"You're  taking  a  journey!"  he  hollered,  actually 
hopping  up  and  down,  he  was  so  excited.  "You're 
taking  the  journey  Sophrony  see  you  taking  in  the 
tea.  It's  coming  true!  It's  all  coming  true,  every 
bit  of  it!  Goodbye!  Keep  your  eye  out  for  the 
luck." 

I  didn't  answer.  The  kind  of  luck  that  was  com 
ing  to  me  nowadays  I  wanted  to  keep  my  eyes  out 
of  the  way  of.  If  I  didn't,  I  figgered  it  was  liable 
to  black  both  of  'em. 

That  cruise  to  Wapatomac  was  a  long  one.  'Twas 
pretty  fur  into  the  afternoon  when  I  started  and 
I  had  a  little  mite  of  engine  trouble  to  hinder  me, 
besides.  It  was  almost  sunset  when  I  made  out 
the  Denboro  shore,  and  I  had  some  miles  to  go  then. 
As  I  sat  there  in  the  stern  sheets,  hanging  on  to  the 
tiller  and  crunching  the  dry  ham  sandwiches  So- 

15 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

phrony  had  put  up  for  my  supper,  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  of  the  last  trip  I  took  to  Wapatomac,  the 
one  with  Martin  Hartley,  when  he  and  I  sailed 
across  that  very  bay  in  a  howling  gale  to  get  the 
doctor  for  little  "Redny,"  the  Fresh  Air  young 
ster. 

That's  all  been  told  about  afore,  of  course,  so 
I  sha'n't  tell  it  again.  But  I  got  to  thinking  what  a 
lot  of  changes  had  took  place  since.  Van  Brunt 
and  Hartley,  the  New  York  fellers  that  had  come 
to  Wellmouth  to  live  what  they  called  "The  Natural 
Life,"  was  back  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  Wall  Street, 
living,  from  all  accounts,  about  as  complicated  a  life 
as  a  body  could  live.  Nate  Scudder,  who  rented 
'em  his  island,  "Horsefoot  Bar,"  had  moved  from 
Wellmouth  to  Wapatomac.  He  and  his  wife,  Huldy 
Ann,  was  keeping  a  little  store  there,  and  Nate  had 
managed  to  get  himself  made  postmaster.  His 
character  hadn't  changed  any,  though;  my  "bill" 
proved  that.  As  for  me,  I  was  a  little  older  and 
considerable  poorer,  otherwise  about  the  same.  But 
Eureka  Sparrow  and  "Washy"  Sparrow,  her  dad, 
and  Lycurgus  and  Editha  and  Dewey  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  Sparrow  young  ones — I  wondered  where 
they  was  and  what  had  become  of  'em.  They'd 
moved  from  the  shanty  on  the  Neck  Road  years 
ago,  and  'twas  common  report  that  they'd  gone  to 

16 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Brockton,  where  Lycurgus  had  a  good  job  in  a  shoe 
factory.  I  hadn't  heard  a  word  from  'em  since. 

Seemed  as  if  I  could  see  Eureka  right  then,  as  I 
set  thinking  of  her.  I  couldn't  help  grinning  as  I 
remembered  how  she  looked  when  she  first  came 
to  "Ozone  Island"  to  cook  for  us.  Thin,  she  was, 
and  straight  up  and  down — not  a  curve  in  her  any 
wheres.  She  must  be  a  reg'lar  rail  by  this  time, 
I  thought,  'cause  her  kind  generally  stretch  out  as 
they  shoot  up,  like  an  asparagus  sprout.  Never 
mind,  I  liked  her,  in  spite  of  her  looks.  Her  dad 
might  be  the  laziest  critter  on  earth,  same  as  Nate 
Scudder  was  the  meanest,  but  his  daughter  was  all 
right.  I  was  for  Eureka,  first,  last  and  all  the  time. 

The  sun  had  set  and  'twas  dark  when  I  came 
abreast  of  Wapatomac  Neck.  Wapatomac  harbor, 
where  Hartley  and  me  had  come  so  nigh  getting 
wrecked,  was  further  on,  and  the  more  I  thought  of 
navigating  that  channel  in  the  dark  the  less  I  liked  it. 
I  could  do  it,  of  course,  when  I  had  to,  but  just  now 
I  didn't  have  to.  I  see  a  little  cove  in  the  shore  and 
decided  to  anchor  the  Dora  Bassett  there  and  go 
ashore  in  the  skiff  and  walk  the  rest  of  the  way. 
I  could  have  my  seance  with  Scudder  and  then  come 
back  and  sleep  aboard  the  boat.  I  put  what  was  left 
of  the  ham  sandwiches  in  my  pocket  and  swung  in 
for  the  mainland. 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

The  place  where  I  beached  the  skiff  was  a  deserted 
hole,  not  even  a  fish  shanty  on  the  beach.  However, 
some  ways  back  amongst  the  pines  was  the  roof  of 
a  big  building  sticking  up  and  I  judged  that  the 
road  must  be  somewheres  there  or  thereabouts. 
After  I'd  carried  the  skiff's  anchor  up  above  tide 
mark,  and  hid  the  oars  in  the  bushes,  I  was  ready 
to  start.  By  that  time  'twas  getting  pretty  dark. 

I  stumbled  along  through  the  young  pines  and 
huckleberry  bushes.  Pretty  soon  I  struck  into  a  sort 
of  path  that,  I  cal'lated,  might  lead  to  the  road  I  was 
hunting  for.  It  twisted  and  turned,  and,  the  first 
thing  I  knew,  made  a  sudden  bend  around  a  bunch 
of  bayberry  scrub  and  opened  out  into  a  big  clear 
space  like  a  lawn.  And,  back  of  the  lawn,  was  a  big, 
old-fashioned  house,  with  piazzas  stretching  in  front 
of  it,  and  all  blazing  with  lights.  'Twas  the  house 
I'd  seen  the  roof  of  from  the  beach. 

Thinks  I  to  myself,  "Sol,  you're  run  off  your 
course  again.  This  is  some  rich  city  man's  summer 
'cottage'  and  if  you  don't  look  out  there's  likely  to 
be  some  nice,  lively  dog  taking  an  interest  in  your 
underpinning."  So  I  started  to  back  away  again 
into  the  bushes.  But  I  hadn't  backed  more'n  a  cou 
ple  of  yards  when  I  see  something  so  amazing  that 
I  couldn't  help  scooching  down  behind  the  bayberries 
and  looking  at  it. 

18 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

From  around  the  corner  of  the  house  come  a  pro 
cession  of  men,  four  of  'em  together,  running  at  a 
dog  trot.  At  first  I  couldn't  make  out  much  about 
'em  except  that  they  was  running,  but  as  they  swung 
round  the  edge  of  the  lawn  in  my  direction,  I  made 
vout  that  every  last  one  of  'em  was  fat  as  a  porpoise 
and  puffing  like  the  engine  on  the  Dora  Bassett. 
And,  trotting  easy  on  t'other  side  of  'em  and  not 
puffing  the  least  mite,  was  a  big  square-shouldered 
chap,  bare-headed  and  bare-armed.  Against  the 
lights  from  the  house  they  stood  out  like  black 
shadows  cut  out  of  cardboard,  though  'twould  have 
taken  a  sight  of  cardboard  to  cut  the  fattest  out  of, 
and  that's  a  fact. 

Just  as  they  got  abreast  of  me  the  square- 
shouldered  feller  stopped  and  slapped  his  hands  to 
gether.  Then  the  four  fat  ones  stopped,  too — all 
but  their  puffing,  they  kept  that  up — and  one  or  two 
of  'em  groaned  dismal  as  a  funeral.  Didn't  speak, 
but  just  stood  there  and  puffed  and  groaned. 

"Now  then,"  says  Square-Shoulders,  "that's 
enough  for  to-night.  Into  the  house  with  yez — 
( lively." 

There  was  more  puffing  and  more  groans;  then 
the  procession  tacks  ship  and  begins  to  move  slow 
toward  the  piazzas.  Only  one  hung  back,  the  flesh 
iest  one  of  the  lot. 

19 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Oh — oh,  I  say!"  he  pants,  "just  let  us  have  one 
drink,  won't  you?  The  well's  right  here." 

"Nothing  doing,"  says  Square-Shoulders.  "It's 
the  house  and  the  hay  for  yours.  Come !  Get  a 
move  on  now." 

"But — I'll  give  you  a  dollar  for  a  drink  of  water." 
"Nothing  doing,  I  tell  you!     Beat  it." 
They  beat  it,  though  they  was  too  much  out  of 
breath  to  have  beat  a  mud  turtle  in  an  even  race. 
One  after  the  other  I  saw  'em  go  in  at  the  door. 
Then   the   lights    in   the   house   begun   to   go    out, 
the  downstairs  ones.     Inside  of  five  minutes  there 
was   only   one  or  two   feeble  gleams  on  the  main 
deck. 

I  woke  up  and  stepped  out  of  the  bushes.  I'd  been 
too  much  interested  in  the  circus  to  move  afore. 
I  couldn't  make  out  what  sort  of  a  place  'twas  I'd 
struck.  It  might  have  been  a  fat  men's  home,  but, 
if  it  was,  they  wa'n't  over  tender  with  the  inmates. 
I'd  gone  about  ten  foot  and  had  just  discovered  that 
a  black,  square  thing  in  front  of  me  was  a  wooden 
well-top,  with  an  old-fashioned  windlass,  when  I 
heard  a  door  creak  in  the  house.  I  had  just  time 
to  dodge  back  to  my  bayberries  when  somebody 
come  tiptoein'  across  the  grass.  I  could  hear  him 
wheeze  afore  he  got  much  more'n  half  way,  so  I 
didn't  need  the  little  light  the  stars  give  me  to  prove 

20 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

'twas  one  of  the  inmates,  probably  one  of  the  four 
that  had  just  gone  in. 

Down  he  comes  as  fur  as  the  well,  and  I  could 
see  him  leaning  over  the  top  and  fiddling  with  some 
thing  inside.  Then  I  heard  the  old  windlass  begin 
to  squeal.  Every  time  it  squealed  the  fleshy  feller 
would  turn  his  head  and  look  at  the  house  and  say, 
"Oh,  Lord!"  or  something  more  emphatic,  under 
what  breath  he  had  left.  'Twas  the  most  mysterious, 
ridiculous  performance  ever  I  come  across. 

At  last  I  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer.  I  just  had 
to  find  out  what  was  going  on.  So  /  done  some 
tiptoeing — 'twas  catching,  I  cal'late — and  I  reached 
that  well  just  as  my  hefty  friend  dragged  the  bucket, 
brimming,  slopping  full,  over  the  curb. 

"Good  evening,"  says  I. 

He  jumped  as  if  I'd  stuck  something  into  him. 
I  expected  he'd  drop  the  bucket  back  into  the  well 
again,  but  he  didn't;  he  clung  on  to  it  as  if  'twas  the 
"Ark  of  Safety"  that  old  Amos  Peters  used  to  be 
always  talking  about  in  Come-Outer  meeting.  He 
raised  his  head,  glared  at  me,  says  "Oh,  Lord!" 
again,  and  then  ducked  down  to  the  edge  of  that 
bucket  and  begun  to  drink  as  if  he'd  never  stop. 
I  never  see  a  human  being  suck  up  water  the  way 
he  did;  a  sponge  wa'n't  a  circumstance  to  him. 

He  drunk  and  drunk  till  I  expected  to  see  the 
21 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

bottom  of  the  bucket  come  out  at  the  top. 
Then  he  fetched  a  long  sigh  and  set  the  bucket 
down. 

"There!"  says  he.  "I've  had  it,  anyhow.  You 
can't  take  that  away  from  me,  blast  you !" 

I  shook  my  head.  This  was  a  good  many  fathoms 
too  deep  for  me. 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "you've  had  it.  I  should  say  you'd 
had  about  all  there  was." 

"I  needed  it,"  says  he,  stuffy  and  sulky  as  a  young 
one;  "I  needed  it,  by  thunder!" 

"I  should  think  what  you  needed  now  was  a 
pump.  What  was  you  trying  to  do ;  drink  the  well 
dry?" 

He  leaned  over  the  curb  and  stared  at  me  through 
the  dark. 

"You  ain't  McCarty,"  he  says.  "I  never  saw  you 
before.  Who  the  blazes  are  you?" 

"My  name's  Pratt,"  says  I.  "I  hope  you'll  excuse 
me  for " 

He  didn't  wait  to  hear  any  excuse. 

"I  never  saw  you  before,"  he  says  again.  "You're 
a  new  victim,  I  suppose.  What  ails  you?" 

"Nothing  ails  me,   'special,"  says  I,  grinning. 

"Humph!  you're  in  luck.  What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

This  was  the  most  sensible  thing  he'd  said  yet, 

22 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

'cording  to  my  notion.  I  tried  to  give  him  a  sensible 
answer. 

"I'm  here  by  mistake,"  I  told  him.  "Just  landed 
down  abreast  here  on  the  shore  and  I'm  trying  to 
find  my  way  to  the  road  to  the  Neck.  How  do  you 
get  to  it?" 

He  didn't  seem  to  believe  me ;  acted  awful  funny. 

"Here  by  mistake!"  he  says,  slow.  "Then  it's 
the  biggest  mistake  of  your  life,  I'll  tell  you  that. 
Isn't  there  anything  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  I  could  use  a  meal's  vittles 
with  consider'ble  comfort.  Ain't  had  nothing  to  eat 
but  dry  sandwiches  since  noon." 

He  jumped  again  and  come  around  to  my  side 
of  the  well. 

"Sandwiches!"  he  whispers,  excited.  "Sand 
wiches!  What  kind  of  sandwiches?" 

"Well,  they  was  labeled  'ham,'  but  there  wa'n't 
scarcely  enough  substance  to  'em  to  make  the  chris 
tening  worth  while.  My  landlady,  she " 

"Say!  you  haven't  any  of  'em  left,  have  you?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  did  have  a  couple  of  'em 
in  my  pocket. 

"Why,  yes,"  says  I,  "there's  one  or  two " 

"I'll  give  you  a  dollar  apiece  for  the  lot." 

I  stepped  back.  I'd  begun  to  suspicion  that  I'd 
run  afoul  of  a  private  crazy  asylum;  and  this  was 

23 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  proof  I  needed.  Anybody  that  would  give  five 
honest  cents  for  a  barrel  of  Sophrony  Gott's  sand 
wiches  was  too  much  of  a  loon  for  me  to  keep  com 
pany  with. 

"Come!"  he  snaps,  impatient.  "Are  you  deaf? 
I  say  I'll  give  a  dollar  apiece  for  whatever  sand 
wiches  you  have  left." 

I'd  read  somewheres  that  the  way  to  get  on  with 
lunatics  was  to  pacify  'em.  I  dove  into  my  star 
board  pocket  and  resurrected  the  sandwiches. 

"Here  you  be,"  says  I.  "I  don't  want  your  dol 
lars  either." 

He  grabbed  the  sandwiches  the  way  a  shark  would 
grab  a  herring.  Inside  of  a  half  second  his  teeth 
was  rattling  amongst  the  dry  bread. 

"By  George!"  says  he,  through  the  crumbs, 
"that's  good.  I  never  tasted  anything  so  good  in 
my  life!" 

I  couldn't  help  laughing.  I  was  a  little  worried, 
too — I  didn't  know  where  he  might  break  out  next — 
but  I  laughed  just  the  same.  He  struck  me  funny. 

"You  ain't  lived  very  long,  have  you?"  I  says. 

He  didn't  answer;  or,  when  he  did,  it  wa'n't 
rightly  an  answer.  'Twas  another  question. 

"What's  that  other  thing  in  your  hand?"  he 
sung  out. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "it's  a  ...  humph !  it's  a  sort 

24 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

of  heirloom.  In  the  beginning  'twas  a  doughnut, 
I  presume  likely;  but  now  it's  what  a  summer 
woman  would  call  a  genuine  antique." 

He  held  out  one  of  his  hands ;  the  other  was  full 
of  sandwiches. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  says  he. 

"You  don't  want  it." 

"Give  it  to  me." 

I  passed  it  over.  When  a  strange  Bedlamite  talks 
to  me  in  that  tone  of  voice  he  generally  gets  what 
he  asks  for;  but  I  did  think  I'd  ought  to  warn  him. 

"You  listen  to  me  now,  whoever  you  are,"  says  I. 
"That  doughnut  ain't  fit  to  eat.  It's  as  old  as " 

"Shut  up!"  he  snaps.  "You  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about.  Anything's  fit  to  eat  when 
you're  starving — anything  but  nuts  and  raw  oatmeal 
and » 

He  didn't  get  any  further.  There  was  a  click 
and  out  of  the  dark  about  twenty  foot  to  one  side 
of  us — the  side  we  hadn't  either  of  us  been  watch 
ing — blazed  a  stream  of  light  that  hit  that  fat  loon 
right  plumb  in  the  face  and  eyes.  Then  a  voice, 
a  female  voice,  said: 

"Um!  I  thought 'twas  you.  What  do  you  s'pose 
the  Doctor'll  say  to  this  kind  of  doings?" 

I  was  too  surprised  and  set  back  to  move  or  say 
a  word.  The  fat  man  didn't  say  a  word  neither. 

"5 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

but  he  moved.  I  heard  him  give  one  gasp,  and  the 
next  second  I  was  left  alone  on  the  well  platform. 
My  sandwiches  and  doughnut  and  the  critter  I'd 
give  'em  to  was  going  through  the  bushes  the  way 
the  swordfish  went  through  Eleazir's  and  my  fish 
net;  and  making  full  as  much  fuss  about  it. 

Then  the  lantern  light — that's  what  'twas,  the 
light  from  a  dark  lantern — swung  over  in  my  direo 
tion  and  the  voice  says: 

"Now  who  are  you?  And  what  are  you  doing, 
sneaking  around,  interfering  with  the  patients? 
Well,  why  don't  you  answer?" 

I  tried  to  answer.  I  done  my  best.  There  was 
something  about  that  voice  that  sounded  familiar, 
too.  If  I  could  have  seen  who  was  talking  to  me 
I'd  have  felt  better,  but  the  blaze  in  my  eyes  dazzled 
me. 

"Ma'am,"  I  stammers,  "I  cal'late  I've  made  a 
mistake.  I  got  into  your — your  asylum  by  accident. 
I  was » 

That's  as  far  as  I  got.  The  person  that  was 
holding  the  lantern  almost  dropped  it.  She  took  a 
step  toward  me  and  sung  out: 

"Why!  Why!  Mr.  Pratt!  What  in  the  wide 
world  fetched  you  here?  I'm  awful  glad  to  see 
you!  Don't  you  know  me?  I'm  Eureka  Sparrow." 

No  wonder  I  thought  the  voice  was  familiar. 

26 


CHAPTER    II 

ELL!  well!  well!  Eureka,"  says  I;  "this 
does  seem  like  old  times  for  sartin." 

We  was  inside  the  kitchen  of  the  big 
house  by  this  time.  I  was  setting  in  a  chair  by  the 
table  and  Eureka  was  flying  around,  busy  as  a  wasp 
in  an  empty  molasses  hogshead,  getting  supper  for 
me.  She'd  insisted  on  doing  it;  nothing  I  could  say 
would  stop  her.  She  was  terrible  glad  to  see  me, 
she  said,  and  I  own  up  that  she  acted  as  if  she  meant 
it.  Well,  fur's  that  goes,  I  was  mighty  glad  to  see 
her. 

"Don't  it?"  says  she.  "I  declare  if  it  don't !  You 
haven't  changed  a  mite,  Mr.  Pratt.  I  should  know 
you  anywheres." 

I  shouldn't  have  known  her.  She'd  changed,  all 
right  enough.  When  she  did  the  cooking  for  me 
and  the  "Heavenlies"  at  "Ozone-Horsefoot-Bar 
Island"  she  was  thin  as  an  August  herring,  and  as 
for  her  looks — well,  her  face  mightn't  have  stopped 
a  clock,  but  'twould  have  fixed  it  so's  you'd  had 
to  wind  it  every  few  days  to  keep  it  from  losing 
time.  Now  she  was  round  and  plump;  her  hair, 

27 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

that  always  used  to  be  pulled  back  so  tight  she 
couldn't  scowl  without  running  the  risk  of  cracking 
her  forehead,  was  fixed  real  wavy  and  pretty;  and 
her  gown  was  white,  and  fitted  her  first-rate.  And 
she'd  growed  rosy-cheeked  and  good-looking,  in  a 
wholesome,  healthy  kind  of  way.  I  could  scarcely 
believe  'twas  her,  unless  I  shut  my  eyes;  then  the 
way  she  talked,  and  the  brisk,  snappy  way  she  had 
of  moving,  and  the  way  she  sung  when  she  worked — 
all  these  was  the  Eureka  I  used  to  know  and  like. 
When  my  eyes  was  shut  she  was  natural  as  life,  and 
when  I  opened  'em  she  was  twice  as  handsome,  as 
the  saying  is. 

She  asked  me  more'n  a  shipload  of  questions  and 
I  answered  'em  best  I  could,  trying  hard  to  get  a 
chance  to  ask  one  or  two  on  my  own  hook.  When 
I  told  her  about  Kendrick's  and  my  luck  with  our 
weir,  and  our  typhoid  and  all,  she  was  fairly  bub 
bling  over  with  sympathy.  And  when  I  got  to 
Nate  Scudder's  bill  her  eyes  snapped  and  she 
stamped  her  foot  just  as  I'd  seen  her  do  so  often 
in  the  old  days. 

"There !"  says  she,  "ain't  that  just  like  that  Scud- 

i  der  thing !     The  contriving  old  scalawag !     I  knew 

he  was  here  at  Wapatomac.      Miss  Emeline   and 

me  hadn't  been  in  this  house  more'n  two  days  when 

round  he  comes  to  see  if  he  can't  sell  us  groceries. 

28 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

I  guess  likely  he'd  have  talked  Miss  Emeline  over, 
for  he  saw  her  first,  but  I  got  into  the  room  just 
in  time.  You  ought  to  have  seen  his  face  when 
he  laid  eyes  on  me.  Ho!  ho!  Miss  Emeline  was 
surprised.  'Why !'  says  she,  'Eureka,  have  you  met 
Mr.  Scudder  afore?'  'Yes'm,'  says  I,  'I  have;  and 
that's  the  only  safe  way  to  meet  him,  unless  you 
want  to  spend  the  rest  of  your  days  trying  to  catch 
up.'  Oh,  I  give  her  his  character,  all  right!  Old 
cheat!  He's  just  the  same  as  ever,  ain't  he?  Pa 
always  used  to  say  that  you  couldn't  teach  an  old 
dog  new  tricks." 

"Humph !"  I  says,  "you  don't  need  to  teach  Nate 
any  new  ones;  he's  got  enough  of  the  old  ones  to 
keep  the  average  person  busy.  But  who's  this  Miss 
Emeline  you're  talking  about?  And  what  are  you 
doing  in  this  asylum?" 

"It  ain't  an  asylum,"  says  she. 

"It  ain't !  Then  what's  all  the  lunatics  doing  loose 
around  the  premises?" 

"They  ain't  any  looneys  here ;  we  don't  take  'em." 

"Don't  take — say,  look  here,  Eureka;  don't  that 
fat  man — the  one  I  run  afoul  of  out  in  the  yard 
just  now,  the  one  that  was  trying  to  drink  up  the 
well  a  bucketful  at  a  time — don't  he  belong  here?" 

"Yes,  course  he  belongs  here.  That's  Colonel 
Applegate,  from  Providence.  He's  a  stock  broker 

29 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

man  with  barrels  and  barrels  of  money  and  he's 
been  in  the  milishy  and  on  the  Governor's  staff  and 
all  that.  He's  a  Rhode  Island  first  family,  the 
Colonel  is." 

"He's  big  enough  to  be  a  family.  But  do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  he  ain't  crazy?" 

"Course  he  ain't." 

"Then — why,  what  are  you  talking  about?  If  he 
ain't  out  of  his  head,  then  I  am.  Why,  he  et  one 
of  Sophrony  Gott's  sandwiches  and  vowed  and  de 
clared  'twas  the  finest  thing  ever  he  tasted  in  his 
born  days." 

"He  did!  O — oh,  won't  he  catch  it  when  the 
Doctor  finds  it  out !  I  wouldn't  be  in  his  shoes  for 
something." 

"He  wa'n't  in  'em  when  I  met  him ;  he  was  in  his 
stocking  feet." 

"I  bet  you!  that's  how  he  sneaked  out  without 
making  any  noise.  But  I  suspected  he  was  up  to 
some  kind  of  capers.  My!  my!  but  we  have  to 
watch  'em  all  the  time.  Just  like  young  ones  at 
school,  they  are.  You  wouldn't  believe  grown  up 
people  could " 

"Eureka  Sparrow,  stop  it!  Stop  where  you  be! 
What  sort  of  a  place  is  this,  anyway?" 

"Don't  you  know?  I  thought  everybody  knew. 
The  papers  have  been  full  of  it." 

30 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Maybe  so,  but  I've  had  something  else  to  do 
with  my  money  besides  buy  papers.  And,  if  I  had 
bought  'ern,  nobody  but  a  web-footed  person  could 
deliver  'em  at  Setuckit  Point.  What  sort  of  a  place 
is  this,  I  ask  you?" 

"It's  a  sanitarium,  that's  what  it  is." 

She  give  this  out  as  if  'twas  a  sort  of  Gov'ment 
proclamation  that  ought  to  settle  everything.  But  I 
was  about  as  settled  as  a  cup  of  fo'castle  coffee. 

"Sanitarium,"  says  I.  "I  want  to  know!  /wsani- 
tarium,  you  mean,  don't  you?" 

"No,  I  don't.  There  ain't  any  crazy  folks  here, 
I  tell  you.  It's  a  sanitarium,  a  place  where  sick 
folks  come  to  be  made  well." 

I  let  this  sink  in  a  spell. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  says  I,  "that  that  fat 
man — that  Cap'n  Appetite,  or  whatever  his  name 
is — is  sick?" 

"He's  fat,  and  fat's  a  kind  of  sickness." 

" 'Tis,  hey!  Humph!  Then  Sophrony  Gott's 
a  desperate  invalid,  and  I'd  never  have  guessed  it 
to  look  at  her.  Well!  well!" 

"It's  a  sanitarium,"  says  Eureka  again.  "The 
name  of  it  is  'Sea  Breeze  Bluff.'  There!  you've 
heard  of  'Sea  Breeze  Bluff  Sanitarium  for  Right 
Living  and  Rest,'  ain't  you?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

31 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"No,"  says  I.  "I  hate  to  lower  myself  in  your 
opinion,  Eureka,  but  I  ain't." 

"Ain't  heard  of  Sea  Breeze  Bluff?  Or  the  salt 
air  cure?  Or  the  sand  baths?  Or  Doctor  Wool?" 

"Nary  one!" 

"Not  of  Doctor  Lysander  P.  Wool?  Why,  I 
thought  everybody  had  heard  of  him!  His  adver 
tisements  have  been  in  the  papers  for  ever  so  long. 
And  his  picture,  too." 

Then  I  begun  to  get  a  glimmer  of  light.  The 
word  "advertisement"  give  it  to  me. 

"Hold  on,"  I  sung  out.  "You  don't  mean 
'Wool's  Willow  Wine  for  the  Weak'?  Not  that 
feller?" 

"Um-hm,"  says  she,  nodding  emphatic.  "That's 
the  one,  but  he  ain't  a  feller.  'Wool's  Willow  Wine 
for  the  Weak'  and  'Wool's  Licorice  Lozenges  for 
the  Liver,'  and  'Wool's  Perfect  Plasters  for  Pleu 
risy.'  That's  him.  Well,  he  is  running  this  place. 
You  see,  Miss  Emeline,  she " 

"Belay,  Eureka!"  I  cut  in.  "If  you  and  me  are 
going  to  get  anywheres  on  this  cruise,  I  cal'late  we'd 
better  go  back  and  start  over  again  at  the  mark 
buoy.  Suppose  you  commence  by  telling  me  about 
yourself  and  how  you  come  here." 

"Why,  I  come  here  along  of  Miss  Emeline." 

"You  don't  say?  And  Miss  Emeline  come  along 
32 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

of  you,  I  presume  likely.  But  you  ain't  told  me 
who  Miss  Emeline  is  yet." 

She  stopped  rattling  dishes  in  the  sink — she'd 
been  washing  'em  as  fast  as  I  cleared  'em — and 
says  she : 

"I  see,"  she  says,  "you  want  me  to  tell  you  every 
thing,  right  from  the  beginning." 

"That's  the  idea.  You  commence  at  the  first 
chapter  of  Genesis  and  work  down  slow.  Time  you 
get  to  Revelations  I  may  be  where  I  can  understand 
why  a  sane  man — even  a  fat  sick  one  like  this  Cap'n 
Applecart — trots  around  in  his  stocking  feet  after 
dark  offering  to  pay  a  dollar  for  three  square  inches 
of  stale  bread  and  canned  ham.  Don't  say  any 
more;  just  heave  ahead  and  tell." 

So  she  towed  a  chair  up  to  the  table  abreast  of 
me  and  commenced.  And  she  commenced  at  Gen 
esis,  just  as  I'd  ordered  her  to. 

Seems  that  after  the  Sparrows  had  flocked  to 
Brockton,  about  everybody  in  the  nest  worked  for 
a  spell — everybody  but  the  babies,  that  is,  and  the 
oldest  ones  of  them  took  care  of  the  younger.  Ly- 
curgus  and  Editha  and  Napoleon  was  in  the  shoe 
factory  and  doing  first-rate.  Even  Washy — Pa 
Sparrow — got  a  job,  night  watchman  in  a  drug 
store.  He  slept  under  the  counter  and  answered 
the  night  bell  and  the  telephone,  provided  they  rung 

33 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

loud  enough  and  long  enough  to  interfere  with  his 
naps.  As  for  Eureka  herself,  she  went  out  at 
housework.  She  got  a  place  with  a  single  old  maid, 
name  of  Miss  Emeline  Adams,  and  had  been  with 
her  ever  since.  'Twas  her  that  Eureka  called  "Miss 
Emeline." 

Well,  this  Miss  Emeline  had  been  poor  and  every 
day  and  healthy  once  on  a  time,  but  now  she  was 
rich  and  high-toned  and  ailing.  She  was  born  in 
New  Bedford,  but  when  she  was  twenty  she  went 
to  Brockton  and  lived  with  a  couple  of  old  ladies 
who  thought  the  world  of  her  and  kind  of  brought 
her  up,  as  you  might  say.  'Twas  from  them  she 
got  her  aristocratic  notions  and,  after  they  died,  her 
money.  They  left  her  all  they  had,  which  was  con- 
sider'ble,  and  part  of  the  inheritance  was  this  big 
old  house  and  grounds  at  Wapatomac.  For  three 
years  Eureka  and  Miss  Emeline  had  lived  together, 
winters  in  Brockton  and  summers  at  Wapatomac. 
They  got  along  fine  together.  'Twas  plain  enough 
to  see  why,  too.  Eureka  was  a  smart,  capable  girl 
and  a  good  housekeeper,  and,  besides  and  more 
over,  I  judged  there  was  a  kind  of  romantic  nobil 
ity,  so's  to  speak,  about  this  Adams  woman  that 
hit  Eureka  where  she  lived.  As  I  remember  her — 
Eureka,  I  mean — she  was  always  reading  story- 
paper  yarns  about  counts  and  lords  and  earls  and 

34 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

earlesses.  Miss  Emeline,  with  her  high-toned  ideas 
and  her  worship  of  "family" — 'cording  to  Eureka's 
tell,  she  had  a  pedigree  like  a  trotting-horse  and 
was  possessed  with  the  conviction  that  the  name  of 
Eve's  husband  in  Scriptur'  was  a  printer's  mistake 
and  there  should  have  been  an  s  on  the  end  of  it — 
all  this  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  Eureka  would 
love.  Keeping  house  for  Miss  Emeline  Adams  was 
the  nighest  thing  to  being  hired  help  for  an  earless 
that  you're  liable  to  find  this  side  of  the  big  salt 
water. 

'Twas  after  Miss  Emeline  got  her  money  that 
she  begun  to  collect  symptoms.  Afore  that  she  was 
well  enough,  but  she  hadn't  been  cutting  coupons 
long  afore  she  begun  to  feel  feeble  and  to  read  all 
sorts  of  doctors'  books  and  take  all  kinds  of  medi 
cine.  At  last  she  run  afoul  of  "Wool's  Willow 
Wine,"  and,  later  on,  of  Doctor  Wool  himself. 
From  that  time  she  and  the  Doctor  had  been  mighty 
friendly. 

"And  last  winter,"  goes  on  Eureka,  her  good- 
looking  face  all  lit  up  like  a  binnacle  lamp,  with 
excitement  and  enthusiasm;  "only  last  February 
'twas,  just  think  of  it! — last  February  Doctor  Wool 
came  to  see  us  and  told  us  of  his  great  discovery. 
And  what  do  you  suppose  that  discovery  was?" 

"Land  knows!"  says  I.     "What  was  it?" 

35 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"  'Twas  that  all  his  life  his  theory  of  curing  folks 

had  been  wrong.     Yes,  sir,  all  wrong!     He's  dis- 

, covered   that   medicines   wa'n't   what   really   cured 

.at   all.      The   real   cures   was   those   provided   by 

[Mother  Nature." 

"Whose  mother's  that?"  says  I.     "His  wife's?" 

"No,  no !  He  ain't  married.  Don't  you  under 
stand.  Mother  Nature;  everybody's  mother,  yours 
and  mine  and  everybody's.  Mother  Nature  means 
the  earth  we  live  on  and  the  sun  and  the  sand  and 
the  fresh  air  and  salt  water — and — and  all.  Those 
are  what  cures,  not  medicines  at  all.  And  he'd  just 
found  it  out." 

"Humph!"  says  I,  remembering  some  of  the  ad 
vertisements;  "how  about  the  million  or  so  souls 
that  the  'Willow  Wine'  and  the  'Licorice  Loz 
enges'  and  the  'Pleurisy  Plasters'  yanked  out  of  the 
grave?  Land  sakes!  I've  read  more  letters  tes 
tifying  to " 

"I  know.  That's  what  I  said  to  Miss  Emeline. 
But  she  explained  all  that.  Doctor  Wool  had  ex 
plained  it  to  her,  you  see.  'Twa'n't  the  'Wine'  and 
the  'Plasters'  they  took  that  really  cured  'em.  They 
wa'n't  cured  by  them  at  all." 

"They're  a  set  of  awful  liars,  then,"  says  I.  "They 
ought  to  take  something  for  that.  Never  mind; 
heave  ahead." 

36 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

She  went  on,  explaining  that  the  medicines  helped 
some,  in  a  way,  because  the  folks  that  took  'em 
thought  they  was  helped,  but  that  really  they  was 
only  what  she  called  "stimulated,"  and  stimulants 
wa'n't  lasting  cures.  I  told  her  that  I'd  seen  plenty 
of  folks  in  temperance  towns  "stimulated"  by  Ja 
maica  ginger,  but  she  didn't  even  smile.  This  was 
a  serious  business  for  her;  I  could  see  that. 

"No,"  says  she.  "Doctor  Wool  had  discovered 
'twas  Nature  that  done  the  curing,  and  he'd  de 
cided  to  give  up  his  medicine  making  and  start  in 
curing  in  the  right  way.  He  was  figgering  to  open 
a  sanitarium.  Well,  he'd  no  sooner  said  that  than 
Miss  Emeline  had  an  inspiration.  Says  she,  Til 
help  you  open  one.'  And  she  did.  This  is  it.  This 
is  'Sea  Breeze  Bluff  Sanitarium  for  Right  Living 
and  Rest.'  Miss  Emeline  owns  it,  and  Doctor  Wool 
runs  it.  There!  now  you  understand." 

I  didn't  understand  any  too  well.  There  was 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  odd  points  that  wa'n't 
clear  in  my  mind  even  yet.  I  mentioned  one  of 
'em. 

"This  Cap'n  Apple— Apple "  I  begun. 

"Colonel,  not  Cap'n,"  interrupted  Eureka.  "Colo 
nel  Applegate,  his  name  is." 

"All  right,  Colonel  it  is.  Do  I  understand  he's 
one  of  the  Right  Livers?" 

37 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Um-hm,  I  told  you  so." 

"I  know  you  did,  but  it  don't  seem  hardly  possi 
ble.  And  the  other  three  heavyweights  I  see  sachay- 
ing  around  the  yard — I  suppose  likely  they  was 
Livers,  too?" 

"Sure." 

I  thought  this  over. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "maybe  so.  If  you  say  so,  Eu 
reka,  'tis  so,  of  course.  But  if  ever  a  gang  acted 
as  if  they  was  living  about  as  wrong  as  could  be, 
they  did.  And  for  the  land  sakes,  answer  me  this: 
Why  did  that — that  Colonel  man  drink  a  gallon 
of  cold  water?  And  why  did  he  grab  that  sand 
wich  and  doughnut  like  a  shipwrecked  fo'mast  hand 
on  a  raft?  And  what  made  him " 

She  moved  her  hands  for  me  to  stop.  Her  eyes 
was  snapping  with  the  glory  of  it  all. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  says  she;  "I'll  tell  you.  'Twas 
account  of  his  treatment.  He's  being  cured  of  his 
flesh.  Every  morning  he  gets  up  at  five  and  goes 
for  a  walk,  a  mile  or  so.  Then  he  runs  a  half  a 
mile.  Then  he  has  his  breakfast,  some  weak  tea, 
and  some  toast  with  no  butter  on  it,  and  some 
uncooked  cereal  without  sugar  or  milk.  And 
four  prunes.  He  has  four  now;  at  first  he  only 
had  three,  but  he's  been  advanced  to  four. 

And " 

38 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Hold  on!"  I  sung  out.  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
that's  all  the  breakfast  he  has,  after  turning  out  at 
five  and  running  a  mile  and  a  half?" 

"Yes.    And " 

"And  are  the  rest  of  his  meals  like  that?" 

"Not  exactly.  He  has  some  rare  steak — awful 
rare,  hardly  cooked  at  all — at  noon.  Four  ounces 
of  rare  steak;  we  have  to  be  awful  careful  and 
weigh  it  just  right.  He  has  that,  and  a  quarter  of 
a  pint  more  weak  tea,  or  b'iling  hot  water,  just  as 
he  likes,  and  five  more  prunes.  And  at  night,  after 
his  sand  bath,  and  his  different  kinds  of  exercises, 
he  has " 

"Belay  again!  My  soul  and  body!  Four  ounces 
of  raw  steak  and  five  prunes !  No  wonder  the  poor 
thing  was  starving!  But  why  was  he  so  crazy  to 
get  at  that  well?" 

"Because  he  was  thirsty  for  something  cold,  I 
suppose.  They  all  get  that  way  first  along.  You 
see,  cold  water  is  terrible  bad  for  fleshy  folks,  and 
we  don't  allow  'em  but  one  glass  of  it  a  day.  It's 
all  in  the  treatment." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  stand  such  treatment.  I 
shouldn't  think  he  would  neither.  Great  grown-up 
man  like  him!  and  a  Colonel,  too.  Why  don't 
he " 

"Oh,  my  sakes!  Don't  you  see?  It's  a  part  of 
39 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  treatment,  same  as  I  say.  He's  paying  for  it, 
and " 

"Paying  for  it !  Eureka  Sparrow,  are  those  poor, 
wheezing,  puffing,  suffering  things  I  saw  limping 
across  that  yard  paying  money  to  be  treated  so?" 

"Of  course  they  are.  They  pay  five  hundred  dol 
lars  apiece  for  it.  And  they  have  to  pay  it  ahead 
of  time,  too,  else  they  might  get  discouraged  and 
quit  afore  they  was  cured.  They  can't  quit  after 
they've  paid,  or  they  lose  the  five  hundred.  That's 
pretty  smart,  I  think,  don't  you?" 

I  rubbed  my  forehead.  "Well,"  says  I,  "I  can 
see  one  thing  plain  enough.  Nate  Scudder  is  in  the 
primer  class  alongside  of  this  Wool  doctor  of  yours. 
I  suppose  that  was  him  I  see  bullying  the  lunatics — 
the  patients,  I  mean.  He  talked  like  the  second 
mate  on  a  cattle  boat,  and  he  looked  like  one,  too — 
what  I  could  see  of  him  in  the  dark.  So  that  was 
your  Doctor  Wool,  hey?" 

If  I'd  said  a  swear  word  on  the  meeting-house 
steps  I  couldn't  have  shocked  her  more.  She 
gave  a  little  scream  and  jumped  half  out  of  her 
chair. 

"My  sakes,  no  I"  she  squealed.  "That  was  Mike 
McCarty,  the  physical  director.  He  is  pretty  rough, 
and  Miss  Emeline  don't  like  him  very  well,  but 
Doctor  Wool  keeps  him  'cause  he  ain't  been  able 

40 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

to  get  anybody  else.  I  don't  believe  he'll  keep  him 
very  long,  though;  they  had  a  big  row  the  other 
day.  I  suspicion  that  this  McCarty  man  used  to 
drink  liquor  and  that  he's  beginning  to  do  it  again. 
I've  thought  two  or  three  times  I've  smelt  it  on  him 
lately.  Him  and  Thoph  Pease,  the  hired  man,  are 
awful  thick,  and " 

"Hold  on,"  says  I.  When  she  got  started  talking 
she  was  as  hard  to  stop  as  a  young  one's  sled  going 
down  hill.  "If  that  wa'n't  the  Doctor  that  I  see, 
where  is  he?" 

"He's  gone  to  Boston  to  fetch  down  a  new  pa 
tient.  Oh,  he's  a  wonderful  man,  Doctor  Lysander 
P.  Wool  is !  You'll  say  so,  too,  when  you  see  him, 
Mr.  Pratt.  He  don't  bully.  He's  as  gentle  and 
grand  and — and  noble  as  a  duke  or — or  a  Seneschal 
in  a  story  book.  Talk!  You  never  heard  anybody 
talk  the  way  he  can.  It  sort  of  flows  out  of  his 
face,  the  talk  does,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  set 
and  listen.  Such  talk!  Full  of  high  thoughts  and 
uplift  and  such,  like  a  'Poet's  Corner'  in  a  paper. 
After  he's  talked  to  you  for  a  spell  you  don't  know 
where  you  are,  scarcely.  And  you  don't  care, 
neither.  You're  willing  to  be  anywheres  so's  you 
can  rest  back  and  hear  him.  He's " 

The  praise  service  broke  off  there,  'count  of  some 
folks  coming  to  the  back  door.  I  cal'late  'twas  a 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

mercy,  fur's  I  was  concerned.  I'd  never  heard  the 
Wool  man  talk,  so  I  couldn't  judge  the  effect,  but  I 
did  know  that  Eureka's  talk  had  got  me  whirling. 
I'd  always  figgered  that  my  brains  was  as  hard  as 
the  average  alongshore,  but  now  they  was  soften 
ing  up  fast.  I  couldn't  understand  more'n  half  I'd 
heard,  and  that  half  was  pretty  foggy.  So  the 
noise  of  somebody  else  talking,  and  steps  on  the 
kitchen  piazza,  was  the  blessed  relief  I  needed,  as 
the  feller  with  the  p'ison-ivy  rash  said  when  the 
cat  scratched  him. 

I  got  up  to  go,  but  afore  I  could  get  started  the 
folks  was  in  the  kitchen.  There  was  a  pair  of  'em: 
one  the  square-shouldered  feller  I'd  seen  in  the  yard, 
the  McCarty  one,  and  the  other  a  long-legged,  red 
chin-whiskered  critter  that  Eureka  called  "Thoph" 
and  introduced  to  me  as  "Mr.  Theophilus  Pease, 
who  does  the  gardening  and  such;  you've  heard  me 
speak  of  him,  Mr.  Pratt." 

I  didn't  remember  that  I  had,  but  I  said  I  was 
glad  to  hear  of  him  now,  and  him  and  me  and  the 
McCarty  man  shook  hands. 

"I  do  hope  you've  chained  up  that  dog  of  yours, 
Mr.  McCarty,"  says  Eureka.  "He's  got  the  most 
terrible  bulldog  ever  was,"  she  adds,  turning  to  me. 
"He'll  mind  Mr.  McCarty  fine,  but  the  rest  of  us 
don't  feel  safe  unless  he's  chained  up.  He's  a  good 

42 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

watchdog,  though;  that's  why  the  Doctor  lets  him 
stay  here.  His  name's  Pet." 

"That's  a  pretty  name,"  I  says,  for  the  sake  of 
saying  something.  McCarty  laughed. 

"He's  a  pretty  dog,  all  right;  ain't  he,  Thoph?" 
he  chuckled,  turning  to  the  Pease  man.  "Do  you 
like  dogs,  Bratt?" 

"Some  kinds,"  says  I. 

"He'll  like  you.  He  can  eat  a  guy  about  your 
size  for  supper." 

"He'll  have  to  have  good  teeth.  I'm  fairly 
tough  for  my  age,"  says  I,  getting  up  to  go.  I 
didn't  take  much  shine  to  McCarty,  nor  the  other 
feller,  neither.  And,  speaking  of  liquor,  it  did  seem 
to  me  that  there  was  a  floating  smell  of  it  on  the 
premises  just  then. 

"Don't  hurry,  Mr.  Pratt,"  Eureka  says. 

"Got  to  hurry,  or  I'll  be  too  late  to  catch  Nate 
Scudder  afore  he  turns  in  for  the  night." 

"You're  too  late  now,"  says  she.  "He's  turned 
in  long  afore  this,  ain't  he,  Thoph." 

Thoph  said  he  cal'lated  so.  He  didn't  seem  to 
be  in  what  you'd  call  a  good  humor  with  himself  or 
anybody  else.  McCarty,  though,  was  talky  enough 
for  two.  He  was  looking  me  over,  with  a  kind  of 
condescending  grin  on  his  face. 

"Sure  he's  turned  in,"  he  says.  "It's  after  eight 
43 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

o'clock  and  all  you  hayseeds  down  here  hit  the  mat 
tress  soon  as  it  gets  dark,  so's  to  save  kerosene  and 
spite  the  oil  trust.  Scudder's  place  was  pitch  dark 
when  we  came  by  it,  so  you  might  just  as  well  camp 
where  you  are,  Spratt.  Say,  are  you  a  relation  of 
the  guy  in  the  book  the  kids  read — the  one  that 
licked  the  platter  clean?" 

"No,"  says  I,  pretty  crisp. 

"His  name  ain't  Spratt,  Mr.  McCarty,"  says  Eu 
reka,  coming  to  the  rescue.  "It's  Pratt." 

He  laughed  louder  than  ever.  "Oh,  all  right,'* 
he  says;  "my  mistake,  Pratt.  No  hard  feelings, 
hey?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  says  I.  "I  can  make  allowances,  Mc- 
Ginty." 

"McCarty,"  he  says,  sharp. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  had  an  idee  you 
might  be  a  brother  of  the  critter  that  went  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  in  the  song." 

Afore  he  could  think  of  an  answer  to  this,  Thoph 
took  a  notion  to  say  something. 

"Has  the  old  man  got  back  yet?"  he  wanted  to 
know. 

Eureka  looked  at  him.  "If  you  mean  Doctor 
Wool,"  she  says,  dignified,  "he  ain't.  But  we  ex 
pect  him  'most  any  time." 

"That's  who  I  mean.  When  he  comes,  I've  got  a 
44 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

word  to  say  to  him.  By  time,  I'm  getting  sick — 
that's  what  I'm  getting,  sick!" 

He  seemed  to  be  talking  to  me  as  much  as  any 
body,  so  I  answered  him. 

'That  so?"  says  I.  "Well,  I  should  judge  you'd 
come  to  the  right  place  to  be  cured." 

"Humph!  Nosir-ee!  I'm  sick.  And  McCarty's 
sick,  too.  Ain't  you,  Mac?" 

"You  bet  your  life!"  says  McCarty  ugly. 

"Maybe  you  ain't  took  your  prunes  reg'lar,"  I 
put  in,  by  way  of  suggestion. 

Neither  of  'em  smiled.  Pease  looked  sourer 
than  ever,  and  the  square-shouldered  chap  leaned 
for'ard  in  his  chair  and  scowled  at  me. 

"Say,  Rube,"  he  says,  "you  may  not  know  it,  but 
you're  pretty  blamed  fresh,  if  you  ask  me." 

"I  don't  recollect  asking  you,"  says  I,  "but  I'm 
much  obliged  for  the  information.  Now  that  you 
mention  it,  I  had  noticed  there  was  something  around 
here  that  needed  to  be  pickled  pretty  soon,  or  'twas 
liable  to  spile." 

I  don't  know  what  might  have  happened  then. 
The  weather  was  thickening  up  and  it  looked  to  me 
like  squalls.  But  Eureka  took  charge  of  the  deck. 

"There,  there!"  says  she.  "That's  enough  of 
this  kind  of  talk.  Mr.  Pratt's  a  friend  of  mine, 
Mike  McCarty,  and  if  you  and  Thoph  Pease  can't 

45 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

be  civil  to  him,  you  needn't  stay  here.  You  can  take 
yourselves  and  your  sulks  right  out  of  here  this 
minute." 

Pease  didn't  say  anything;  he  looked  kind  of 
scared.  But  McCarty  had  a  shot  left  in  the  locker. 

"Are  you  running  this  joint?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"I'm  running  this  kitchen,  and  it  ain't  a  joint, 
whatever  that  is.  You  get  right  out  of  here,  Mike 
McCarty.  If  you  don't,  I'll  report  you  both  to 
the  Doctor  when  he  comes." 

I  didn't  want  her  to  get  into  any  trouble  on  my 
account,  and  afore  anything  else  happened  I  grabbed 
my  cap  and  headed  for  the  door.  She  followed  me 
to  the  back  piazza. 

"It's  a  shame,"  says  she,  snappy  as  a  bunch  of 
firecrackers.  "The  sassy,  impudent  things!  You 
stay  here,  Mr.  Pratt.  Don't  you  go  till  you  get 
good  and  ready." 

"I  ought  to  have  been  ready  half  an  hour  ago," 
I  told  her.  "Don't  worry,  Eureka;  I'm  going  be 
cause  I  want  to,  not  because  of  them  two.  What 
ails  'em,  any  way?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Thoph  Pease  has  a  notion 
that  he  don't  get  pay  enough  for  what  he  does." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"Nothing  mainly.  He's  supposed  to  be  male 
hired  help  around  the  place,  take  care  of  the  hens 

46 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

and  the  cow  and  cut  the  grass  and  so  on.  Make 
himself  generally  useful,  that's  what  Doctor  Wool 
said  when  he  hired  him.  But  what  he  does  is  to  be 
generally  useless.  I  never  saw  anybody  do  that 
better'n  he  does.  It  comes  natural  to  him.  But  he 
don't  count.  It's  McCarty  that's  responsible  for 
most  of  the  fuss.  He's  a  trouble-maker,  that's  what 
he  is." 

I  laughed.  "Yes,"  says  I,  "that's  plain  enough. 
Well,  I've  dodged  the  trouble  that  Sophrony  Gott 
saw  in  the  teacup  when  she  was  telling  my  fortune 
this  afternoon,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  on  dodging 
long's  I  can.  Good-bye,  Eureka.  I'm  awful  glad 
I  run  across  you  again  and  I'm  much  obliged  for 
the  supper." 

I  was  stepping  off  the  porch,  but  she  wouldn't  let 
me  go.  The  mention  of  that  fortune-telling  was 
like  a  chunk  of  sp'iled  fish  to  a  crab,  'twas  the  kind 
of  bait  she  liked  and  she  wouldn't  let  go  till  she  had 
the  whole  of  it.  Nothing  would  do  but  I  must  tell 
her  all  about  it. 

"Well!"  says  she,  when  I'd  finished.  "Well,  I 
declare!  Ain't  that  wonderful!  Just  like  a  story! 
And  some  of  it's  come  true  already,  ain't  it?  You 
did  get  a  letter,  even  if  'twas  only  a  bill;  and  you 
have  taken  a  journey.  Maybe  it'll  all  come  true. 
There  was  two  female  spirits  hovering  over  you, 

47 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

she  said,  didn't  she  ?  I  wonder  who  they  are.  Why, 
perhaps  I'm  one  of  'em." 

I  shook  my  head.  "When  you  get  to  hovering 
over  me,  Eureka,"  I  says,  "I'm  going  to  stand  out 
from  under.  You  weigh  too  much  nowadays  to 
hover  comfortable." 

But  joking  wa'n't  in  her  log  just  then.  She  held 
tight  to  my  arm  and,  though  'twas  too  dark  to  see, 
I  could  feel  that  she  was  awful  excited. 

"And  the  money!"  she  says.  "There  ,was  a 
lot  of  money  coming  to  you  from  the  journey. 
How  do  you  s'pose  that.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  good 
ness  gracious!  I  do  believe.  .  .  .  You  don't 
s'pose " 

She  stopped.  There  was  a  rattle  of  wheels  and 
the  "thump-thump"  of  horse's  hoofs  coming  along 
the  drive.  A  covered  wagon,  a  depot  wagon  it 
looked  like,  hauled  by  an  old  white  horse,  came  roll 
ing  past  us  and  up  to  the  front  piazza. 

"Whoa!"  says  the  feller  on  the  driver's  seat. 
The  door  of  the  wagon  opened  and  a  big,  heavy- 
built  man  got  out. 

"It's  the  Doctor!"  whispered  Eureka  in  my  ear. 
"It's  Doctor  Wool  himself.  I'm  so  glad  I  Now 
you've  seen  him,  anyway." 

I  couldn't  see  much  of  him.  There  was  a  lamp 
burning  now,  in  a  glass  frame  by  the  front  door, 

48 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

but  it  wa'n't  a  Highland  Light  lighthouse  by  con- 
sider'ble. 

"Who's  the  other  critter  with  him?"  I  asked 

"I  guess  likely  it  must  be  Professor  Quill,  the  new 
patient,"  says  Eureka.  "He  was  coming  with  the 
Doctor." 

The  Professor  was  long  and  lanky.  Against  the 
light  his  clothes  hung  on  him  as  if  he  was  framed 
with  laths.  He  had  on  a  tall  hat,  and  he  knocked 
it  off  getting  out  of  the  carriage.  When  he  stooped 
to  pick  it  up  his  hair  fell  down  all  around  his  face. 

"Too  bad,  too  bad!"  says  the  thick-set  man,  in 
a  voice  like  a  church  organ,  'twas  so  deep  and  kind 
of  musical  and  purry.  "No  harm  done,  I  trust? 
No?  No?  Good!  Good!  Walk  in.  Enter,  if 
you  please.  After  you,  Professor.  Our  arrange 
ments  here  are  a  bit  primitive,  a  bit  primitive  and 
rural — yes,  but  homelike,  we — er — hope.  Walk  in, 
walk  in." 

They  walked  in,  the  big  voice  purring  along  till 
the  door  shut  it  off.  Eureka  hadn't  said  a  word 
since  the  accident  to  the  hat.  Now  I  heard  her  give 
a  kind  of  gasp. 

"Did  you  see?"  she  sung  out.  "Oh,  did  you  see? 
It  is  coming  true !  It  is  !  It  is !" 

I  pulled  my  arm  loose.  "Stop !"  she  called  after 
me.  "Wait!  Please  wait!  Mr.  Pratt,  you  must 

49 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

promise  me  that  you  won't  go  back  to  Wellmouth  till 
you've  come  here  again.  Come  to-morrow  morning. 
Promise!" 

I'd  have  promised  'most  anything  to  get  away. 
I  was  sort  of  anxious  to  make  sure  the  Dora  Bas- 
sett  was  safe  and  sound;  and,  besides,  I  was  sleepy. 

"All  right,  I'll  promise,"  says  I.  "I'll  have  my 
little  folksy  chat  with  Scudder  and  then  I'll  run  up 
and  say  good-bye  to  you.  So  long,  Eureka." 

"Good-night,"  says  she.  "It's  wonderful,  ain't  it? 
I  never  knew  anything  so  wonderful.  You  did  see, 
didn't  you?" 

"I  saw  your  Wool  doctor,  if  that's  what  you 
mean." 

"No,  no!  the  other  one — Professor  Quill.  You 
saw  him.  You  know  who  he  is?" 

"Who  he  is?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  you  realized  who  he  is.  I  did;  it  came 
to  me  just  the  minute  his  hat  fell  off.  He's  the  thin 
man  with  the  thick  hair,  the  one  Mrs.  Gott  saw  in 
the  teacup.  Of  course  he  is!  Isn't  it  wonderful!" 


CHAPTER   III 

I  CHUCKLED  to  myself  all  the  way  down  to  the 
skiff  at  the  ridiculousness  of  the  whole  thing. 
But  I  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  my  promise. 
I  wanted  to  see  more  of  that  "Rest"  place  and  the 
"Right  Livers."     They  was  the  most  curious  com 
bination  I'd  run  across  for  a  good  while.     On  the 
way  down  the  path  I  heard  a  dog  growling  some- 
wheres  off  to  the  left;  I  judged  'twas  "Pet,"  chained 
up.     I  was  perfectly  satisfied  to  have  him  chained; 
bulldogs  ain't  as  much  in  my  line  as  dog-fish,   al 
though  I  have  about  as  much  use  for  one  as  t'other. 
The  skiff  was  all  right,   and  so  was  the  Dora 
Bassett,  when  I'd  rowed  off  to  her.     I  turned  in 
and  slept  sound  all  night,   cal'lating  to  start  for 
Nate's  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

But  in  the  morning,  when  I  turned  out,  that  pesky 
appetite  of  mine  got  to  reminding  me  that  I  hadn't 
had  any  breakfast.  As  a  general  thing,  I  don't  chuck 
overboard  much  advice  about  making  over  creation, 
but  it  does  seem  to  me  there's  been  a  mistake  in  this 
appetite  business.  A  poor  man's  appetite  and  di 
gestion  is  usually  first  class  and  able  to  tackle  any- 

51 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

thing — but  there's  precious  little  for  him  to  tackle; 
and  a  rich  man,  with  all  the  world  on  ice,  so  to 
speak,  has  dyspepsy  and  must  worry  along  on  hot 
milk  and  such.  Now,  the  way  I  look  at  it,  there's 
a  misdeal  here  somewheres.  You  think  it  over  and 
see  if  I  ain't  right. 

Well,  as  I  said,  my  appetite  was  on  deck  that 
morning,  and  'twas  a  troublesome  cargo.  I'd  given 
Colonel  Applecart  all  the  sandwiches  and  dough 
nuts  I  had  left  from  Sophrony's  luncheon,  and, 
hungry  as  I  was,  I  didn't  shed  any  tears  over  the 
memory  of  them.  But  it  did  look  like  a  long  wait 
till  I  got  to  Wapatomac,  and,  as  the  tide  was  going 
out,  I  took  my  clam  hoe  and  a  dreener,  and  got  into 
the  skiff  and  rowed  ashore,  hoping  to  locate  a  few 
clams  to  stay  myself  with  till  I  got  where  I  could 
buy  something  else. 

My  hopes  wa'n't  disappointed.  I  never  saw  clams 
thicker  than  they  was  along  them  inshore  flats.  I 
filled  my  dreener  in  no  time,  and  then  it  come  to 
me  that  'twouldn't  be  a  bad  idee  to  get  a  lot  more, 
take  'em  with  me  to  Wellmouth,  and  peddle  'em 
out.  Clams  was  fairly  scarce  over  that  side  of  the 
bay  and  ought  to  fetch  a  fair  price. 

So  I  went  back  to  the  Dora  Bassett,  taking  my 
full  dreener  with  me,  lit  up  my  little  ile-stove  that 
I  always  carry  aboard,  and  put  on  a  kettle  of  clams 

52 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to  steam  while  I  was  digging  some  more.  Then  I 
rowed  ashore  again.  As  I  was  on  my  way  out  I'd 
noticed  a  heap  of  old  barrels  and  such  piled  up  at 
the  edge  of  the  pines;  the  rubbish  pile  from  the 
sanitarium,  I  judged  'twas.  I  ransacked  the  pile  and 
resurrected  a  big  box  that,  according  to  the  mark 
ings  on  it,  must  have  had  crockery  in  it  at  one  time 
or  'nother.  I  lugged  the  box  down  to  tide  mark 
and  left  it  there,  cal'lating  to  fill  it  with  clams  soon's 
I'd  filled  the  dreener  again. 

But  I'd  hadn't  got  the  dreener  more'n  half  full, 
when  another  notion  struck  me.  The  further  out 
from  shore  I  got  the  bigger  the  clams  I  found. 
Thinks  I,  "Why  not  go  to  see  Scudder  first,  and 
then  come  back  and  do  the  rest  of  my  digging?" 
The  tide  would  be  further  out  then,  and  I'd  stand  a 
better  chance  for  the  big  fellers.  So  I  left  my  clam 
dreener  right  where  'twas,  in  a  hole  where  the  water 
covered  it  a  foot  or  more,  and  rowed  back  to  the 
Dora  Bassett,  anchored  my  skiff,  started  up  the  en 
gine,  and  headed  for  Wapatomac  and  Nate.  I  ate 
my  steamed  clam  breakfast  as  I  went  along. 

'Twas  only  half-past  seven,  and  a  fine  morning 
with  an  off-shore  wind.  The  long  stretch  of  nar 
rows  leading  up  to  Wapatomac  harbor  didn't  look 
much  the  way  it  did  when  Martin  Hartley  and  me 
came  through  it  that  time  in  the  gale.  The  Dora 

53 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Bassett  chugged  along,  slick  as  a  greased  eel,  and  1 
run  her  up  to  the  wharf  and  made  fast. 

There  was  a  feller  setting  on  a  mackerel  keg  on 
the  wharf,  same  as  there  always  is  on  any  wharf  or 
around  'most  any  railroad  depot.  And  he  was  a 
fine  specimen  of  the  average  run  of  such  fellers.  I 
don't  know  why  his  kind  are  always  there,  but  they 
always  are.  Maybe  they're  anywheres  where  there's 
a  chance  to  set. 

I  climbed  up  over  the  string-piece  and  hailed  him. 

"Morning,"  says  I,  cheerful. 

"Ugh,"  says  he.  A  hog  would  have  said  about 
as  much  and  in  pretty  much  the  same  way. 

"Is  there  a  man  name  of  Scudder  running  a  store 
in  this  latitude?"  I  wanted  to  know. 

"Um-hm,"  says  he.  "Ain't  got  no  smoking  ter- 
backer  on  you  nowheres,  'tain't  likely?" 

"Oh,  yes,  'tis,"  I  says.  "It's  the  likeliest  thing 
ever  you  saw.  Want  some,  do  you?" 

"Yup,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  did." 

"Then  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  could  have 
it." 

I  rummaged  out  my  plug  and  handed  it  to  him. 
He  dug  an  ancient  and  honorable  old  clay  pipe  out 
of  his  overalls  and  set  looking  at  it,  mournful. 

"Got  a  knife?"  says  he. 

I  passed  over  my  knife.  He  whittled  up  a  quar- 

54 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

ter  of  the  plug  and  filled  his  pipe  with  part  of  the 
whittlings;  what  was  left  he  put  in  his  pocket. 

"Speaking  of  Scudder's  store,"  I  says,  by  way  of 
suggestion. 

'Twas  like  a  poor  vaccination,  it  didn't  take.  He 
seemed  to  have  suggestions  enough  of  his  own. 

"Ain't  got  a  match  you  can  lend  me,  have  you?" 
says  he. 

I  grinned.  I  was  in  kind  of  a  hurry,  too,  but  I 
couldn't  help  grinning. 

"I  might,"  I  says,  "if  you  give  it  back  when  you 
get  through  with  it." 

He  didn't  answer,  but  held  out  his  hand. 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  light  it  for  you?" 
says  I. 

"No-o,  I  don't  know's  I  do." 

He  lit  it  himself  and  got  the  old  pipe  to  going. 
Then  he  crossed  his  legs  and  looked  me  over. 

"Where'd  you  come  from?"  says  he. 

"Wellmouth  Neck.     I " 

"What  in  time  do  you  want  to  find  Nate  Scud 
der's  store  for?  Want  to  buy  something  there?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Looking  for  mail  at  the  office?" 

"No." 

I  said  it  pretty  sharp,  I  cal'late,  and  he  looked  at 
me  again.  He  actually  leaned  for'ard  a  little  on  the 

55 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

keg,  too,  which  was  the  first  symptom  of  interest 
he'd  shown. 

"Say,"  he  says,  "you  ain't  going  to  try  to  sell 
Scudder  something,  be  you?" 

"No." 

"What  do  you  want  of  him,  anyhow?" 

I'd  been  heating  up  slow  and  by  now  I  was  pretty 
well  het. 

"I  want  to  break  his  everlasting  neck,"  I  snapped. 
"And  I  may  do  it  afore  I  get  through.  Now  will 
you  dry  up  on  the  catechism  and  tell  me  how  to 
locate  him;  or  won't  you?" 

He  jumped  up  off  the  keg  and  slapped  me  on  the 
shoulder.  I  was  so  surprised  I  pretty  nigh  fell 
down. 

"I'll  do  more'n  that,"  he  says.  "I'll  go  along 
with  you  and  see  that  you  take  the  short  cuts.  Come 
on!  Break  old  Scudder's  neck!  Gosh!" 

I  never  see  a  body  look  happier  at  a  prospect.  I 
judged  Nate  was  about  as  popular  in  Wapatomac 
as  he  had  been  in  Wellmouth. 

The  store  wa'n't  but  a  little  ways  off,  standing 
by  itself,  and  wa'n't  much  to  look  at  when  we  got 
to  it.  The  sign  over  the  door  was  "Wapatomac 
General  Store.  Groceries,  Dry  Goods,  Yacht  and 
Boat  Supplies,  Confectionery,  Boots  and  Shoes  and 
Cigars.  Hulda  A.  Scudder,  Proprietor."  There 

56 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

was  a  little  one  by  itself  that  said,  "Post-Office."  I 
grinned  again,  in  spite  of  my  temper,  when  I  see 
those  signs.  I  hadn't  noticed  it  on  the  billhead, 
but  you  could  always  trust  Nate  to  keep  his  weather 
eye  out  for  squalls  and  put  everything  in  his  wife's 
name;  he  run  the  post-office  in  his  own,  but  that  was 
all  he'd  risk. 

My  pilot  stopped  when  we  got  as  fur  as  the  plat 
form. 

"Ain't  you  comin'  in?"  says  I. 

"No-o,"  says  he,  "I  cal'late  I  won't,  not  just  now. 
There's  a  little  mite  of  a  bill  that.  .  .  .  No,  I'll 
stay  out  here  till  the  neck-breaking  begins.  Say," 
he  whispers,  with  the  first  sign  of  a  smile  I'd  seen 
on  his  face,  "don't  do  it  too  quick,  will  you?  Kind 
of  stretch  out  his  sufferings  long  as  you  can,  for  my 
sake.  So  long." 

The  store  was  as  dingy  inside  as  'twas  out.  Nate 
wa'n't  nowheres  in  sight,  but  Huldy  Ann  was  astern 
of  the  counter;  she  hadn't  changed  a  mite,  fur's  looks 
went.  Setting  in  a  rickety  old  wooden  armchair 
close  by  was  a  middle-aged,  prim-looking  woman, 
dressed  in  black,  with  a  prim-looking  hat  on  her 
head  and  gray  silk  gloves  on  her  hands.  Her  hair 
was  fixed  smooth  and  plain,  not  a  wisp  of  it  loose 
anywheres,  and  if  ever  "Old  Maid"  was  wrote  large 
on  a  person,  'twas  on  her.  Yet  what  she  was  wear- 

57 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

ing  was  good  quality,  and  she  looked  as  if  she  was 
used  to  her  clothes. 

"I  cannot  wait,  Mrs.  Scudder,"  she  was  saying, 
as  I  came  in.  "I  cannot.  I  must  get  back.  Is  there 
no  one  with  a  horse  and  vehicle  whom  I  can  hire  to 
drive  me  home?  When  do  you  expect  your  hus 
band?" 

Huldy  Ann  looked  sort  of  troubled. 

"He  won't  be  back  afore  noon,"  she  says,  regret 
ful.  "He's  gone  over  to  Brantboro  to  collect  a  ... 
on  a  matter  of  business.  I'd  drive  you  back  myself, 
only  I  can't  leave  the  store  very  well,  and  Nate's 
took  the  horse,  besides.  Can't  you  get  a  team  down 
to  the  livery  stable?" 

"I  suppose  I  can,"  says  the  other  woman.  "If  I 
may  use  your  'phone,  I'll  try." 

Huldy  shook  her  head.  "Well,  now,  ain't  that 
too  bad!"  she  says.  "It  does  beat  all  how  contrary 
things  act  sometimes.  Our  telephone  ain't  working. 
My  husband  had  some  little  argument  with  the 
company  about — about  a  charge  they  put  on  our 
bill,  and  the  unlikely  critters  cut  off  the  service. 
That's  the  trouble  with  them  big  corporations,  they 
ain't  got  any  souls.  I " 

The  other  woman  interrupted  her.  "Very  well," 
says  she,  sort  of  impatient,  but  resigned;  "then  I 
will  walk  home.  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Scudder." 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

She  was  turning  to  go,  but  when  she  turned  she 
saw  me  standing  by  the  door.  Huldy  Ann  looked 
up  and  saw  me,  too. 

"Well,"  says  Huldy,  brisk,  "what  can  I  do  for 
you,  Mister?"  Then  she  looked  a  little  closer  and 
sung  out:  "Why!  why!  I  do  believe  it's  Solomon 
Pratt!" 

"Your  belief's  orthodox  so  fur,  Huldy,"  says  I. 
"How  are  you?" 

.  "Solomon  Pratt!"  says  she  again.  "Solomon 
Pratt  from  Wellmouth!  What  in  the  wide  world 
are  you  doing  way  over  here?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  stay  away  from  you  and  Nate 
any  longer,  'specially  since  you  took  the  trouble  to 
write  and  invite  me." 

"I  invite  you?  Oh!"  She  looked  a  little  queer, 
seemed  to  me,  and  sort  of  flustered.  "Oh!"  she 
says  again,  "you  mean  that  little  statement  Nathan 
sent  you.  You  needn't  have  come  way  over  here 
to  pay  that." 

"I  didn't,"  says  I,  prompt.  "So  don't  let  that 
weigh  on  your  conscience,  Huldy.  Nate's  out,  I 
understand." 

"Yes.      No Oh,     are     you     going,     Miss 

Adams  ?  You're  really  not  going  to  walk  way  back 
home!" 

"It  looks  as  if  I  should  have  to,"  says  the  other 

59 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

woman.     "It  is  a  long  way  for  one  in  my  state  of 
health,  but  I  must  get  back." 

"Well,  I  must  say  it's  a  shame.  If  there  was 
anybody  I  could  get  to  drive." 

"I  wish  there  was,  but  it  appears  there  isn't.  It 
is  almost  as  far  to  the  livery  stable  as  it  is  to  the 
sanitarium,  so  I  may  as  well  walk  home,  if  walk  I 
must.  Oh,  dear!" 

She  looked  at  me,  sideways,  when  she  said  it.  I 
had  been  looking  at  her.  The  name  Adams  had 
given  me  the  idea  who  she  must  be.  The  description 
Eureka  give  me  fitted  her  to  a  T.  She  was  the  Miss 
Emeline  I'd  heard  so  much  about:  Doctor  Ly- 
sander  Wool's  star  patient;  the  one  that  owned  the 
"Right  Livers'  Rest  Place." 

"I  would  gladly  pay  two  dollars  for  a  horse  and 
carriage — and  driver,"  she  said,  still  looking  at  me 
sideways. 

Maybe  'twas  the  two  dollars.  I  could  use  money 
about  as  well  as  the  next  feller,  just  then.  Anyhow 
I  says: 

"I'll  take  you  back  home,  ma'am,  if  you  want  me 
to." 

She  started  and  looked  me  over  again. 

"Thank  you,"  says  she,  kind  of  hopeful  but  doubt 
ful,  so  to  speak.  "I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am 

sure.     But  I " 

60 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Oh,  I'm  fairly  respectable,  in  spite  of  my  looks," 
I  put  in.  "Huldy  Ann  here'll  give  me  a  recommend, 
I  shouldn't  wonder;  though  she  ain't  much  in  the 
giving  habit.  How  about  it,  Huldy?" 

Huldy  looked  more  fussed-up  than  ever,  and  a 
little  mite  put  out  besides. 

"Mr.  Pratt  is  an  old  fri — neighbor — of  ours  at 
Wellmouth,"  she  says,  short.  "He's  all  right;  you 
can  trust  him  same  as  you  would  my  husband,  Miss 
Adams." 

"There !"  says  I.  "Now  I  am  proud.  You 
couldn't  ask  more'n  that,  ma'am,  could  you?" 

She  never  smiled.  I  judged  all  my  good  sarcasm 
was  going  to  waste.  However,  she  acted  a  little 
more  satisfied. 

"I  am  sure  I  can  trust  him,"  she  says  to  Huldy. 
"You  must  excuse  my  hesitation,  Mr. — er — Pratt," 
turning  to  me,  "but  I  have  had  a  very  disagreeable 
experience  this  morning  with  one  whom  I  had 
trusted  heretofore,  and  perhaps  I  am  over-cautious. 
I  thank  you.  But  do  you  know  where  I  wish  to  go?" 

I  told  her  I  cal'lated  I  did,  if  she  was  Miss  Erne- 
line  Adams  of  Doctor  Wool's  sanitarium.  She 
seemed  surprised  that  I  knew  her  name,  and  Huldy 
Ann  acted  similar.  I  explained  that  I  had  a  friend 
who  knew  her. 

"Eureka  Sparrow,  her  name  is,  ma'am,"  says  I. 
61 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Oh,"  says  she,  as  if  this  settled  it.  "Are  you  that 
Mr.  Pratt?  Eureka  has  spoken  of  you  often.  I 
accept  your  offer,  of  course,  Mr.  Pratt.  Is  your 
horse  and  carnage  outside  here?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No,  ma'am,"  says  I;  "but  my  power  boat,  the 
Dora  Bassett,  is  right  down  to  the  wharf.  She'll 
get  you  home  quick  as  any  horse,  now  I  tell  you." 

This  opened  up  a  whole  lot  more  trouble.  She 
wa'n't  used  to  boats  and  was  scared  of  going  in  one. 
However,  after  consider'ble  pow-wow  she  agreed  to 
run  the  risk,  and  we  started.  Huldy  Ann  got  me 
to  one  side  afore  I  reached  the  door. 

"If  you  want  to  pay  that  bill,  Solomon,"  says  she, 
"you  can  leave  the  money  with  me." 

"If  I  wanted  to,  Huldy,  I  would,"  I  says.  "It's 
awful  kind  of  you  to  think  of  it." 

She  flared  up  in  a  jiffy.  "Look  here,  Mr.  Pratt," 
says  she,  "if  you  expect  my  husband  to  go  clear  to 
Wellmouth  Neck  to  collect  that  bill  you  owe  him 
you're " 

"There,  there !"  says  I.  "I  don't.  I'll  tell  him 
where  he  can  go,  when  I  see  him.  So  long,  Huldy." 

The  long-legged  critter  that  had  piloted  me  up 
from  the  wharf  was  waiting  around  the  corner, 

"Have  you  broke  it?"  he  whispers,  eager. 

"Broke  what?" 

62 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Old  Scudder's  neck.  Have  you?  I  didn't  hear 
no  row." 

"No,  I  ain't  broke  it  yet." 

"Humph!     Why  not?" 

"Well,  for  one  reason,  he's  gone  to  Brantboro 
and  taken  his  neck  with  him." 

He  was  awful  disappointed.  "Humph!"  he  says 
again,  "then  you  ain't  done  nothing  to  him,  after 
all." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I've  been  trying  a  little  Chris 
tian  Science,  giving  him  absent  treatment.  Right  this 
way,  Miss  Adams." 

The  tide  had  gone  out  consider'ble  while  I  was 
up  to  Scudder's  store,  and  I  had  a  good  deal  of  a 
job  getting  the  Emeline  woman  to  climb  down  the 
ladder  into  the  boat.  However,  I  got  her  there 
finally  and  I  cranked  up  and  got  under  way.  On 
the  run  down  to  the  Narrows  she  asked  me  a  lot 
of  questions  about  myself,  what  I'd  been  doing,  and 
the  like  of  that. 

"Can  you  cut  grass,  Mr.  Pratt?"  says  she. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  What  on  earth  she 
asked  that  for  I  couldn't  make  out. 

"Cal'late  I  can,  ma'am,"  I  said.  "If  I  don't  get 
a  job  pretty  soon  I'll  have  to  1'arn  to  eat  it,  like 
Nebuchadnezzar  in  Scriptur' !" 

She  smiled  then.  'Twas  a  kind  of  uncertain  smile, 
63 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

same  as  if  she  guessed  there  was  a  joke  round  the 
premises  somewheres,  but  wa'n't  sure,  not  being 
used  to  the  breed. 

"I  do  hope  you  won't  think  me  unduly  curious,  Mr. 
Pratt,"  she  says.  "I  am  not  asking  these  questions 
merely  from  idle  curiosity,  I  assure  you." 

"That's  all  right,  ma'am.    Heave  ahead  and  ask." 

"I  have  an  idea  that  perhaps Well,  I'll  say 

no  more  now.  We  will  discuss  it  later,  after  I  have 
spoken  with  Doctor  Wool.  I  presume  you  wonder 
why  I  happened  to  be  at  Mr.  Scudder's  store  so 
early  with  no  way  of  getting  back.  I  will  explain.  I 
have  had  such  an  experience!" 

I  had  been  wondering  what  such  a  precise  female 
as  she  was  doing,  hunting  for  somebody  to  take  her 
home  at  half-past  eight  in  the  morning.  Now  she 
went  ahead  and  told  me.  Seems  she  always  turned 
out  about  six,  that  being  a  part  of  the  particular 
"treatment"  she  was  taking.  Eureka,  who  was  sort 
of  over-seeing  housekeeper  at  the  Rest  shop,  had 
just  been  told  by  the  cook  that  they  needed  some 
more  oatmeal  or  prunes  or  something  right  off. 
Thoph  Pease,  the  feller  I'd  met  the  night  afore,  had 
been  given  his  orders  to  hitch  up  the  horse  and  drive 
over  after  it.  Miss  Emeline  took  a  notion  to  go 
along. 

"  'Twas  such  a  beautiful  morning,  Mr.  Pratt," 

64 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

says  she.  "I  thought  the  drive  would  do  me  good. 
I  should  have  asked  permission  of  the  Doctor,  but  I 
did  not." 

"Asked  permission,"  says  I.  "What  for?  You 
own  the  place,  don't  you?  Eureka  said  you  did. 
What  do  you  have  to  ask  anybody's  permission  for?" 

She  looked  at  me  as  if  I'd  said  something  unre- 
ligious. 

"It  is  true,"  she  says,  dignified,  "that  I  own  the 
property  itself,  but  Doctor  Wool  is  in  full  charge  of 
the  sanitarium.  I  am  merely  one  of  his  patients 
and  we  abide  entirely  by  his  directions  and  advice. 
The  Doctor  is  a  wonderful  man." 

Eureka  had  said  the  same  thing,  and  in  the  same 
reverent,  meeting-house  kind  of  voice,  too.  I  was 
more  anxious  to  meet  Lysander  the  Great  than  ever; 
anxious  and  a  little  mite  nervous.  I'd  never  run 
afoul  of  any  saints  and  heroes  alongshore,  and  I 
wa'n't  sure  that  I'd  know  how  to  behave. 

"But  that  is  immaterial,"  she  went  on.  "I  did  not 
ask  his  permission  and  I  did  start  for  Mr.  Scudder's 
with  that  dreadful  Theophilus.  I  thought  he  be 
haved  queerly  when  I  got  into  the  buggy,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  noticed  a  peculiar  odor  about 
him." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "I  noticed  it  last  night. 
Rum  and  molasses,  wa'n't  it?  I  wouldn't  take  my 

65 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

oath  on  the  molasses,  but  the  rest  of  the  prescription 
was  there." 

"It  was  some  sort  of  spirits,"  she  says,  kind  of 
shuddering.  "He  frightened  me,  Mr.  Pratt,  and 
when  I  remonstrated  with  him  for  driving  so  reck 
lessly  he  used  the  most  dreadful  language.  Before 
we  reached  the  village  I  insisted  on  getting  out  of 
the  carnage.  I  thought  for  a  moment  he  was  going 
to  detain  me  by  force — yes,  physical  force.  But  he 
did  not  quite  dare  and  I  got  out  and  walked  the  rest 
'of  the  way.  I  told  him  to  go  home  at  once ;  that  I 

would  see  he  was  discharged.  He  was Why, 

Mr.  Pratt,  the  man  was — was  actually I'm 

ashamed  to  speak  the  word!" 

"I'll  speak  it  for  you,  ma'am.  You  was  going  to 
say  he  was  drunk,  tighter'n  a  b'iled  owl,  wa'n't  you. 
He  was  on  the  way  to  it  last  night,  and  his  McCarty 
friend  wa'n't  much  better.  I  cal'late  the  pair  of  'em 
have  been  keeping  it  up  ever  since.  What  did  he 
say  when  you  bounced  him?" 

"He  was  dreadfully  ugly.  He  said  I  had  better 
not  mention  it  to  the  Doctor  or  it  would  be  the  worse 
for  me.  I  was  frightened  and  hurried  away  and  left 
him.  I  think  he  drove  back  then,  but  I'm  not  sure. 
What  is  it?  What  are  you  looking  at?" 

I  was  bending  for'ard  to  stare  over  the  port  bow 
ahead.  It  had  seemed  to  me  that  I'd  noticed  a 

66 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

couple  of  fellers  in  the  bushes  on  a  point  of  land  we 
was  passing.  However,  I  didn't  see  'em  any  more 
and  I  didn't  mention  'em  to  her.  She  went  on  talk 
ing  about  this  and  that,  principally  Thoph  and  his 
dreadful  actions.  I  was  busy  keeping  clear  of  the 
flats  and  shoals.  The  tide  had  gone  out  a  lot  and  I 
wa'n't  used  to  the  coast. 

However,  everything  went  first  rate  till  I  turned 
the  last  point  and  swung  in  where  I'd  left  my  skiff. 
Then  I  had  a  shock.  The  skiff  wa'n't  there  any 
more — 'twas  gone. 

I  was  surprised  and  pretty  mad,  at  myself,  of 
course.  I  thought  I'd  anchored  that  skiff  hard  and 
fast,  but  it  seemed  as  if  I  hadn't.  I  looked  out  over 
the  bay,  but  she  wa'n't  nowheres  in  sight.  A  good, 
four-year-old  skiff,  too,  worth  fifteen  dollars  of  any 
man's  money;  and  fifteen  dollars  was  a  Standard  He 
salary  to  me  just  then. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  says  Miss  Emeline.  "Oh, 
what  is  it,  Mr.  Pratt?  We  are  not  in  any  danger, 
are  we?" 

"No,  no,"  says  I.  "You  couldn't  find  any  danger 
here  if  you  dredged  for  it.  My  skiff's  drifted  out 
to  sea,  that's  all.  I'd  like  to  go  and  hunt  for  her, 
but  I  cal'late  you're  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the 
house,  ain't  you?" 

Indeed  she  was !  She  must  get  back  at  once.  No 
67 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

one  knew  where  she  had  gone  and  they  would  be 
worried. 

"All  right,"  says  I,  "then  I'll  get  you  back  some 
how.  It's  all  right;  don't  you  fret,  Miss  Adams." 

I  run  the  Dora  Bassett  as  close  inshore  as  I  dast 
to,  but  that  wa'n't  so  awful  close.  There  was  a  good 
fifty  yards  of  shoal  water  between  me  and  the  beach 
when  I  got  the  anchor  overside,  but  not  more'n  a 
couple  of  foot  under  the  keel. 

"Now,  Miss  Adams,"  says  I,  beginning  to  take 
off  my  boots  and  socks,  "if  you'll  just  not  be  scared 
and  set  still  in  my  arms  I'll  hop  overboard  and  lug 
you  ashore." 

Well,  sir,  you  wouldn't  have  believed  a  sane  per 
son  could  have  made  such  a  fuss  over  a  simple  thing 
like  that.  If  I'd  proposed  hitching  that  Emeline 
woman  to  the  anchor  she  couldn't  have  made  more 
objections. 

"But  there's  no  danger,"  says  I.  "I'll  see  that 
you  don't  get  wet,  and  I'm  a  kind  of  half  fish,  any 
how.  Salt  water's  good  for  me.  I'm  like  old  Tony 
Peters,  the  Portygee.  He  fell  off  the  wharf  and 
got  wet  all  over  for  the  first  time  in  ten  years,  I 
cal'late.  When  they  fished  him  out  he  acted  sort 
of  surprised.  'No,  no!'  says  he.  'Tony  no  hurt. 
Tony  feel  better.  I  go  in  again  sometime,  maybe.' ' 

I  laughed.  I  always  laugh  when  I  think  of  Tony. 
68 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

But  that  Emeline  woman  didn't  laugh.  No,  sir-eel 
I  give  you  my  word  I  thought  she  was  going  to  cry. 
She  would  not  let  me  lug  her  ashore,  that's  all  there 
was  to  it. 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  says  I,  losing  patience. 
"Then  there's  nothing  to  do  but  set  here  and  wait 
till  somebody  comes,  fur's  I  see." 

"But  no  one  ever  comes  down  here,"  says  she. 
"Not  oftener  than  once  a  week." 

"All  right,  then  we'll  wait  a  week;  unless  you're 
willing  fur  me  to  leave  you  here  and  go  ashore  by 
myself  and  hunt  up  a  dory  or  something." 

No,  no !  she  wouldn't  be  left  alone  in  that  dread 
ful  boat  for  anything.  That  would  be  worse  than 
being  toted  in  my  arms.  So  there  being  nothing  to 
do,  I  set  still  and  did  it. 

Pretty  soon  she  begun  to  whoop  for  help.  You'd 
think  she  was  drowning.  I  was  so  ashamed  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do. 

"Look  here,  ma'am,"  says  I,  after  the  nineteenth 
whoop,  "I'd  just  as  soon  you  wouldn't  do  that,  if 
you  please.  There's  an  offshore  breeze  anyhow,  so 
it  don't  do  us  no  good;  and,  besides,  I  ain't  so  proud 
of  this  pickle  we're  in  that  I  want  to  advertise  it. 
...  I.  ...  Say,  keep  still,  will  you !" 

I  guess  my  tone  wa'n't  any  too  peaceful;  anyhow 
she  kept  still.  Then,  for  five  minutes  or  so,  there 

69 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

wa'n't  hardly  a  sound.  From  ashore  somewheres 
a  dog  barked,  but  his  bark  shut  off  sudden  in  the 
middle. 

Then,  all  at  once,  Miss  Emeline  spoke  up. 

"You  are  sure  it  would  be  safe?"  says  she. 

"I've  told  you  so,  ma'am,  ain't  I?" 

"And  you  won't  drop  me?" 

"Nary  drop." 

"Then — then  I'll  trust  you.  I — I'm  ready."  She 
said  it  as  if  she  was  going  to  be  led  out  and  hung. 

However,  she  didn't  have  to  say  it  but  once.  Next 
second  I  was  overboard  in  water  above  my  knees 
and  holding  out  my  arms  for  her.  She  flopped  into 
'em  with  her  eyes  shut  and  groaning  as  if  she  was 
dying.  I  started  for  shore. 

The  first  fifteen  yards  was  all  right,  except  that 
I  was  pretty  nigh  strangled  from  the  death  grip 
she  had  on  my  neck.  And  every  second  step  she 
screamed,  not  loud  screams,  but,  being  as  they  was 
straight  into  my  port  ear,  they  was  loud  enough. 
Then  we  come  to  a  channel  and  the  water  deepened 
up  some.  It  deepened  till  'twas  up  to  my  waist. 
Miss  Emeline  stopped  screaming  and  begun  to  give 
orders. 

"I'm  going  back,"  says  she.     "I'm  going  back." 

"No,  no,  you  ain't,"  says  I;  "you're  going  ahead. 
Just  keep  still  and  we'll  be  out  of  this  in  a  shake." 

70 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"I'm  going  back!  I  command  you  to  take  me 
back  at  once!  I  command  you!" 

"Ma'am,"  says  I,  "you  keep  still.  Keep  still! 
If  you  don't  I'll — I  swan  to  man  I'll  put  you 
down!" 

I  was  mad  enough  to  do  it.  I  guess  she  realized 
I  meant  it,  for  she  stopped  kicking.  On  I  went. 

"Ouch!"  says  I. 

"Oh !"  she  gasps.  "What  is  it?  What  is  it?  Is 
this  the  end?" 

"Which  end?  I  stepped  on  a  crab,  if  you  want 
to  know.  There !  now  she  begins  to  shoal  up  again. 
Your  troubles  are  'most  over,  Miss  Adams." 

But  they  wasn't;  they  was  just  beginning.  I  hadn't 
no  more'n  said  this  when  from  astern  of  us  come  a 
hail.  I  stopped  and  looked  over  my  shoulder.  What 
I  see  made  me  forget  all  about  crabs  and  women 
and  such  trifles. 

Back  of  us,  between  where  we  stood  and  the  Dora 
Bassett,  was  a  skiff — my  skiff,  the  one  I  thought  had 
floated  adrift.  And  in  that  skiff,  grinning  the  ugliest 
grin  ever  you  saw,  was  Mike  McCarty,  Physical  Di 
rector  of  the  Right  Livers'  Rest.  He  had — so  I 
found  out  afterwards — waded  off  and  got  the  skiff 
and  had  been  hiding  in  it  behind  the  next  point,  wait 
ing  for  us  to  come.  He  had  one  oar  in  the  water, 
steadying  the  skiff  where  it  was,  and  the  other  bal- 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

anced  across  the  rail.  I  stared  at  him  and  h|e 
grinned  at  me.  /  didn't  grin  much. 

"Hello,  Spratt!"  says  he.  "How's  the  water; 
wet?" 

I  could  have  punched  his  head;  the  only  reason  I 
didn't  was  that  I  couldn't  get  at  it. 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  doing  in  that  skiff?"  I 
hollered. 

"Taking  a  little  fresh  air,"  says  he,  cheerful. 
"You  two  make  a  classy  picture,  Spratt.  Pity  I  ain't 
got  a  kodak." 

"You'll  make  a  whole  panorama  when  I  get  hold 
of  you,"  I  sung  out.  "Come  here  with  that  boat." 

"Oh,  no,  I  guess  not.  We'll  have  a  little  talk 
first.  How's  the  old  girl ;  heavy  ?" 

I  don't  know  how  Miss  Emeline  liked  being  called 
"old  girl."  I  didn't  wait  to  find  out. 

"I'll  see  you  in  just  two  minutes,  chummie,"  says 
I.  "Wait  till  I  put  this  lady  on  dry  ground  and  I'll 
talk  to  you — more'n  you  want,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

He  just  grinned  again.  "We  won't  wait,  Spratt," 
he  says.  "Stop  where  you  arel  Hi,  Thoph! 
Thoph!.  .  .  .  Humph!  Now  you'll  stop,  maybe." 

And  stop  I  did.  I  had  took  a  couple  of  long 
steps  toward  the  shore  when  out  of  the  bushes  walks 
that  Thoph  Pease  critter,  the  hired  man,  the  rum 
and  molasses  one.  He  was  holding  tight  to  one 

72 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

end  of  a  rope.  At  the  other  end  of  that  rope  was 
the  savagest,  ugliest,  hungriest-looking  bulldog  I'd 
ever  run  acrost  in  my  born  days. 

I  saw  that  bulldog  and  Thoph,  and,  as  I  say,  I 
stopped.  Miss  Emeline  saw  'em  and  screamed. 
From  astern  of  us  I  heard  McCarty  laugh. 

"Pretty,  ain't  he,"  says  he.  "Let  him  go,  Thoph ! 
Hi,  Pet!  Look  out  for  'em!  Sic  'em,  boy!" 

Thoph  let  go  of  his  end  of  the  rope.  "Pet" 
turned  loose  a  growl  like  the  first  rumblings  of  an 
earthquake  and  come  tearing  to  the  shore.  There 
he  pranced  up  and  down,  with  his  forepaws  in  the 
water,  and  stood,  ready  for  his  breakfast.  There 
wa'n't  much  doubt  in  my  mind  that  we  was  the 
breakfast. 

"And  now,"  says  McCarty,  "we'll  have  our  little 
talk.  Miss  Adams,  you  listen  to  what  me  and  Pease 
have  got  to  say." 

I  was  too  much  set  back  and  surprised  to  get  a 
word  loose,  but  I  felt  Miss  Emeline  kind  of  stiffen 
in  my  arms. 

"Theophilus  Pease,"  says  she,  stern  and  sharp, 
"how  dare  you!  Call  off  that  dog!  Take  the  crea 
ture  away  immediately." 

Thoph  acted  a  little  mite  scared,  in  spite  of  his 
rum  and  molasses. 

"I — I  can't,  ma'am,"  he  says. 

73 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"You  bet  he  can't!"  This  was  from  McCarty. 
"I  own  that  dog  and  he  minds  nobody  but  me.  Miss 
Adams,  you  stay  right  where  you  are  until  you 
promise  on  your  word  of  honor  not  to  tell  Wool  or 
anybody  else  about  Thoph's  row  with  you  this  morn 
ing.  You've  said  you  was  going  to  have  him  fired. 
Well,  you  ain't.  Him  and  me  are  standing  to 
gether  in  this  thing  and  we'll  see  it  through.  Hey, 
Thoph?" 

"Bet  your  life!"  drawls  Thoph,  uneasy  but  ugly. 

I'd  found  my  tongue  by  this  time  and  I  was  b'il- 
ing  over. 

"Don't  you  promise  nothing,  ma'am,"  I  bel 
lowed.  "I'll  settle  this  business  myself.  Don't  be 
scared." 

I  swung  round  and  commenced  to  make  toward 
the  skiff.  Miss  Emeline  gave  another  gasp. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  sung  out. 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  back  to  the  Dora  Bas- 
sett.  Then  I'll  do  a  little  physical  directing  on  my 
own  hook." 

But  I  hadn't  got  into  the  deep  water  again  afore 
McCarty  made  his  next  move.  In  that  skiff  he  had 
a  big  advantage  over  me.  Two  strokes  of  the  oars 
and  he  was  alongside  the  Dora  Bassett  and  his 
jackknife  was  out. 

"Nothing  doing,"  says  he,  with  a  snap  of  his  jaws. 
74 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"You  come  this  way  another  inch  and  I'll  cut  the 
anchor  rope  and  let  her  go  adrift." 

Well,  I  never  wanted  to  keep  moving  more,  but 
I  didn't — I  stopped.  The  wind  had  been  breezing 
up  and  'twas  dead  offshore.  If  he  cut  that  anchor 
rope  the  boat  might  drift  to  Jericho.  Ten  to  one 
I'd  never  see  her  again.  And  she  was  about  all  I 
had  left  in  the  world. 

"Ha !  ha  !"  laughs  McCarty. 

"He!  he!"  chuckles  Thoph. 

"Gr-r-r!     Bow-wow!"  remarks  Pet. 

And  the  water  was  getting  colder  and  Miss  Eme- 
line  getting  heavier  every  second. 

'Twas  McCarty  that  spoke  next.  He  was  boss 
of  the  situation  for  the  time  being.  More'n  that, 
he'd  had  plenty  of  time  to  think  in,  which  I  hadn't. 

"We  ain't  unreasonable,  Miss  Adams,"  he  says, 
more  polite  and  coaxing.  "We  don't  want  to  lose 
our  jobs,  that's  all.  I'll  own  that  Thoph  has  been 
tanking  up  a  bit,  but  that's  nothing;  maybe  he  won't 
do  it  again.  All  we  want  of  you  is  to  keep  still 
about  it  and  give  us  another  show.  If  you  promise 
I  know  you'll  keep  your  word.  And  you  don't  get 
out  of  that  water  till  you  do." 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  scream,  but  McCarty 
shut  it  up  in  a  hurry. 

"There's  no  use  to  yell,"  he  says.     "Nobody'll 

75 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

hear  you.  The  Doc  and  his  new  guy,  old  Quill, 
have  gone  for  a  walk.  The  patients  are  all  over  on 
the  exercise  ground,  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  The 
Sparrow  girl  has  gone  to  the  store  to  find  you. 
There's  nobody  in  the  house  but  the  cook  and 
maid,  and  they're  busy.  There's  nothing  doing  in 
the  rescue  line,  so  you  can  promise  us  to  keep  still, 
or  you  can  stay  there — and  drown." 

Miss  Emeline's  clutch  on  my  neck  got  tighter 
than  ever,  if  that  was  possible. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  groaned  in  my  ear. 
"What  shall  I  do?" 

I  managed  to  gurgle  out  a  word  or  two  over  her 
wrist. 

"Do!"  I  choked.  "Do  nothing,  of  course.  You 
couldn't  drown  on  these  flats  unless  you  dug  a  hole 
and  put  your  head  in  it.  Don't  you  promise  a  single 
thing." 

"But— but " 

"Hold  on!  Ease  up  on  my  throat  a  jiffy,  will 
you.  Whew !  Much  obliged.  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
do.  Promise,  same  as  they  say.  You  needn't  tell  a 
word.  I'll  do  all  the  talking's  necessary.  Prom 
ise." 

She  hesitated. 

"I  hate  to,"  she  gasped.  "It  is  against  my  prin 
ciples.  I " 

76 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Well?"  says  McCarty.  "Going  to  be  sensible, 
are  you?" 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"I  guess  you  know  all  right.  Now,  Spratt,  or 
Pratt,  or  whatever  your  name  is,  you've  got  to 
promise,  too." 

"Promise  be — keelhauled!"  says  I.  It's  a  good 
thing  Miss  Emeline  choked  me  off  when  she  did, 
or  I'd  have  made  it  more  lively.  "I'll  promise  to 
break  your  figurehead  for  you ;  that's  what  I'll  prom 
ise." 

"No,  you  won't.  I'll  risk  my  figurehead.  Bu* 
you'll  promise  to  keep  your  mouth  shut  or  I'll  cut 
this  anchor  rope.  And  see  here,  Miss  Adams, 
if  he  does  promise  and  then  blabs,  you've  got  to 
swear  he's  a  liar.  You'll  have  to  promise  that, 
too." 

She  almost  jumped  out  of  my  arms. 

"What!"  she  says.  "You  expect  me  to  tell  a 
falsehood!  You — you — I  never  did  such  a  thing  in 
my  life!" 

"You've  missed  something,"  says  McCarty.  "It 
ain't  too  late  to  begin." 

"Never!"  says  she,  "never!  I'll  stay  here  till  I 
drown  first." 

"Right  you  are,  ma'am,"  says  I.  "And  we  won't 
drown  nuther.  Come  on*  we'll  go  ashore." 

77 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Anc/  for  shore  I  headed.  But  I  didn't  get  very 
far. 

"Watch  'em,  Pet,"  yelled  McCarty.  Pet  watched 
us,  all  right.  It's  a  bad  thing  to  have  too  much 
imagination.  I  could  feel  them  teeth  in  my  under 
pinning  already. 

"Is — is  that  critter  very  ferocious?"  I  asked,  eas 
ing  up  in  my  stride. 

"Dreadful!  Oh,  dreadful!  He  has  bitten  sev 
eral  people.  He  would  kill  us,  I  do  believe." 

Well,  I  didn't  hanker  to  be  fresh  meat  for  a  bull 
dog.  And  it  sartin  did  look  as  if  'twould  take  a  lot 
to  fill  that  mouth.  I  kept  on  edging  in,  but  mighty 
slow.  McCarty  and  Thoph  noticed  the  slowness 
and  they  both  laughed. 

"He  don't  like  the  scenery,  Pease,"  giggles  the 
physical  director. 

I  was  thinking  awful  hard.  As  for  Miss  Emeline, 
she  was  trembling,  but  quiet.  It  was  plain  she'd 
ruther  die  than  lie.  I  begun  to  have  more  respect 
for  that  old  maid. 

I  edged  in  a  little  further,  and  then  I  spied  some 
thing  that  give  me  an  idea.  Just  in  front  of  me,  in 
the  hole  where  I'd  left  it,  was  my  dreener  half  full 
of  clams.  I  remembered  something  Obed  Nicker- 
son,  of  Orham,  told  me  about  an  experience  he  had 
with  a  dog. 

78 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Ma'am,"  I  whispered.  "Miss  Adams,  I  want 
you  to  do  just  what  I  tell  you.  I'm  going  to  put 
you  down." 

"Oh,  no,  no !"  says  she.    "No,  no !" 

"Yes,  yes  I  'Tain't  more'n  up  to  your — up  to 
the  tops  of  your  shoes.  I'm  going  to  set  you  down." 

"No,  no!  you  mustn't!     I " 

She  hung  on  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  life  preserver.  I 
grabbed  her  wrists  and  pulled  'em  loose. 

"I've  got  to,"  says  I.  "There's  a  limit  to  being 
choked  and  froze,  and,  besides,  you  weigh  all  of 
fifty  pounds  more'n  you  did  when  I  picked  you  up. 
Down  you  go !  There !" 

I  stood  her  on  her  feet  in  the  shallow  water.  I 
heard  McCarty  yell,  but  I  didn't  pay  no  attention. 

"Now,"  I  whispers,  not  asking,  but  ordering,  this 
time,  "you  start  for  the  beach  up  there,"  pointing 
off  to  starboard.  "Go,  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"I  can't — I  can't — the  dog " 

"I'll  look  after  the  dog.  Or  he'll  look  after  me. 
When  I  start  you  start,  too." 

I  didn't  wait  to  see  whether  she  did  or  not.  I 
made  one  jump  for'ard,  grabbed  up  the  dreener  of 
clams,  and  ran  pell-mell  for  the  beach.  Only  I  took 
a  course  in  the  opposite  direction  from  what  I'd  sent 
her. 

Through  the  sand  and  water  I  went,  yelling  like 

79 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

a  loon.  Thoph  and  Pet  danced  around  on  shore, 
not  knowing  which  of  us  to  take  after.  The  Mc- 
Carty  swab,  though,  kept  his  head  and  he  yelled  his 
orders. 

"Look  out  for  the  woman,  Thoph!"  he  roared. 
"Sic  him,  Pet!  Sic  him!" 

So  after  Miss  Emeline  went  Pease,  and  after  me 
came  Pet,  mouth  open  and  teeth  snapping. 

'Twas  what  I'd  cal'lated  on  and  I  was  ready  for 
him.  I  grabbed  a  handful  of  clams  out  of  the 
dreener  and  let  him  have  'em,  hard  as  I  could  throw. 
Four  out  of  the  half-dozen  missed,  but  'tother  two 
bust  right  in  his  face  and  eyes.  He  yelled  and 
jumped,  and  I  gained  a  lap  in  the  race. 

When  he  come  on  again  he  got  another  handful. 
A  clam  shell  is  pretty  sharp  when  it  lands  edgeways 
on  your  nose,  and,  for  the  average  pup,  two  broad 
sides  would  have  been  enough.  But  not  for  Pet — 
no,  sir !  On  he  came,  coughing  and  snarling. 

By  this  time  I  was  on  the  beach  and  heading 
straight  for  that  big  empty  box  I'd  found  early  in 
the  morning,  and  had  figgered  to  put  my  extry  clams 
into.  He  was  at  my  heels  when  I  reached  it,  and  I 
fired  all  my  ammunition,  dreener  and  all,  at  him. 
It  hit  and  over  he  went  as  if  he'd  been  blowed  up. 
He  wa'n't  discouraged,  not  him,  but  neither  was  I. 
I  had  the  big  box,  open  side  down,  in  my  arms  in 

80 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

front  of  me  by  now,  and,  when  he  made  his  next 
jump,  I  jumped,  too. 

It  was  more  luck  than  anything  else,  but  if  any 
body  ever  had  luck  due  'em,  I  was  that  feller.  I 
jumped  up  in  the  air,  box  and  all.  When  I  come 
down  the  sharp  edge  of  the  box  caught  that  dog 
about  six  inches  from  his  tail  and  right  acrost  his 
back.  Naturally,  he  jumped  for'ard  to  get  out  from 
under.  When  he  jumped  he  went  inside  the  box. 
Down  it  came  "plunk"  in  the  sand  with  me  sprawled 
on  top  of  it.  As  for  "Pet,"  he  was  inside  the  box, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  rabbit  in  a  trap. 

Well,  'twas  some  situation.  There  I  was, 
sprawled  on  top  of  the  box;  underneath  was  the 
dog,  humping  up  and  snarling  and  growling  and 
yelping  and  sneezing  all  at  once;  up  the  beach  was 
the  Adams  woman,  running  best  she  could,  with 
Pease  after  her;  and  McCarty  in  the  skiff  was  row 
ing  for  shore  and  yelling  orders  to  his  messmate 
and  brimstone  remarks  to  me. 

And  then  a  voice  right  alongside  of  me  says : 

"You  go  and  help  Miss  Emeline,  Mr.  Pratt.  I'll 
set  on  the  dog." 

I  twisted  my  neck  and  looked  up.  Eureka  Spar 
row  was  standing  there,  calm  and  cool  as  an  iced 
codfish. 

"My  soul!    Eureka!"  says  I. 
Si 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Yes,"  says  she.  "Don't  get  up  all  to  once;  just 
shove  over  a  little  and  give  me  room.  I  weigh  a 
hundred  and  fifty-two,  and  I'll  stay  put,  I  guess 
likely.  It's  all  right,  Miss  Emeline.  Mr.  Pratt's 
a-coming." 


CHAPTER    IV 

WELL,  I  shoved  over;  I  don't  know  why, 
nuther.  I'm  mighty  sure  'twa'n't  because 
I  sensed  what  Joash  Howes,  when  he 
talked  politics  at  the  post-office,  used  to  call  the 
"true  inwardness  of  the  crisis  that's  onto  us."  I 
didn't  seem  to  sense  much  of  anything,  except  that 
my  inwardness  was  awful  scant  of  breath.  How 
ever,  I  shoved  over  on  the  box  and  down  set  Eureka. 
The  solid,  everyday  way  she  did  it  kind  of  brought 
me  to  myself.  I  scrambled  to  my  feet  and  took 
after  Pease.  He  had  caught  up  with  the  Adams 
woman  by  this  time  and  was  dancing  around  in  front 
of  her,  waving  both  fists  and  telling  her  to  stop. 
He  didn't  hardly  dast  to  actually  lay  hands  on  her. 
McCarty  would  have  grabbed  her  and  thrown  her 
into  the  bay,  for  what  I  know;  but  not  Thoph.  He 
was  the  weak  end  of  that  rum  and  molasses  con 
cern,  and  his  partner  wasn't  there  to  help  him. 

And  I  got  there  afore  the  partner  did.  Mc 
Carty  wasn't  over  halfway  to  the  beach  when  my 
boot  hit  that  Pease  critter  and  pitchpoled  him  same 

83 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

as  I've  seen  a  boat  pitchpoled  in  the  surf  when  a 
summer  boarder  tried  to  make  a  landing.  Thoph's 
nose — and  there  was  consider'ble  of  it — made  a  fur 
row  in  the  sand.  I  grabbed  Miss  Emeline  by  the 
waist.  I  thought  maybe  she  was  going  to  faint — 
women  do  that  sometimes,  they  tell  me — but  I  was 
mistaken.  She  was  on  dry  land  now  and  the  first 
word  she  said  proved  there  waVt  much  faint  about 
her. 

"Is — is  that  dog  out  of  the  way?"  she  panted. 

"Yes'm,"  says  I,  "he  is." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He's — he's  under  Eureka." 

"Eureka!     Where  is  Eureka?" 

"Over  the  dog.    Over  there,  I  mean." 

She  looked  where  I  pointed.  Eureka  smiled  and 
nodded. 

"He's  all  right,  Miss  Emeline,"  she  called.  "He 
can't  get  out.  Mr.  Pratt,  McCarty's  'most  here." 

I  turned  around.  The  skiff  was  almost  to  the 
beach.  Thoph  was  getting  on  his  knees  again.  He 
seemed  sort  of  undecided  in  his  mind  whether  to 
run  away  or  stay  there  and  hold  onto  his  nose.  I 
was  undecided,  too.  I  hated  to  leave  Miss  Eme 
line,  but  I  didn't  want  McCarty  to  get  ashore.  Two 
to  one's  a  big  majority,  and  I'd  ruther  have  the  two 
separate. 

84 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Miss  Emeline  settled  it  for  me.  She  twisted  out 
of  my  arm. 

"Look  out  for  that  creature,"  she  says,  pointing 
toward  the  skiff.  <ll  am  all  right  now." 

"But — but  him,"  says  I,  pointing  toward  Thoph. 
He  was  on  his  knees  still.  It  looked  almost  as  if 
he  was  praying — but  it  didn't  sound  that  way. 

"He!"  snapped  Miss  Emeline.  "I'm  not  afraid 
of  him!  I'm  ashamed  to  think  I  ever  was.  Let 
me  be,  Mr.  Pratt." 

I  let  her  be.  I  was  glad  of  the  chance.  I  run 
down  to  the  shore  and  stood  there,  waiting.  For 
the  first  time  in  twenty  minutes  I  was  happy,  actually 
happy. 

"Come  on,  Mr.  Physical  Director,"  says  I. 
"Come  on,  and  get  your  morning  exercise." 

He  kept  coming;  I'll  give  him  that  much  credit. 
But  all  at  once  he  stopped  and  jumped  to  his  feet. 
There  was  a  rustle  in  the  bushes  astern  of  us,  and 
a  voice,  the  big,  purry,  organ  voice  I'd  heard  the 
night  afore,  said: 

"What  is  all  this?  Tut!  tut!  tut!  I  am  sur 
prised!  What  does  this  mean?" 

All  hands  looked,  I  cal'late.  I  know  I  did.  For 
a  jiffy  'twas  still  as  could  be;  then  everything  hap 
pened  at  once. 

Thoph  Pease  give  one  gulp,  or  groan,  or  swear, 

85 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

or  combination  of  all  three,  and  put  for  tall  timber 
as  if  the  Old  Scratch  was  after  him.  McCarty 
sat  down  again  in  the  skiff  and  looked  sick.  Miss 
Emeline  collapsed  in  the  sand  and  looked  thankful. 
And  Eureka,  perched  on  the  dog  coop,  spoke  up, 
resigned  and  contented. 

"It's  the  Doctor,"  says  she.  "There!  Now 
we're  all  right." 

He  come  marching  down  the  beach,  big  and  calm 
and  serene,  like  the  admiral  of  all  creation  on  par 
ade.  He  was  dressed  in  white,  generally  speaking — 
white  flannel  pants  and  white  vest  and  a  white  broad- 
brimmed  hat  in  his  hand.  His  coat,  though,  was 
long-tailed  and  black  like  a  parson's,  and  his  neck 
tie  was  blue  with  white  spots,  and  clewed  up  in  a 
big,  floppy  bow.  All  these  things  I  noticed  after 
wards;  what  I  was  watching  just  then  was  his 
face. 

'Twas  a  big  face  and  smooth,  no  whiskers,  no 
mustache,  no  nothing,  and  his  forehead  run  up  over 
the  top  of  his  head.  His  nose  was  big,  and  his  mouth 
was  big,  and  his  hair,  what  there  was  of  it,  was 
brushed  back  astern  of  his  ears.  When  he  walked 
he  stepped  deliberate;  when  he  moved  his  big  white 
hands  he  moved  'em  deliberate;  everything  he  did 
he  did  deliberate  and  grand.  Somehow  he  made  you 
feel  little  and — and — well — young. 

86   ' 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He  looked  us  all  over,  one  after  the  other.  Then 
he  took  command  of  the  deck. 

"McCarty,"  he  boomed,  in  his  big  voice,  "bring 
that  boat  ashore  immediately." 

And,  by  time !  McCarty  done  it.  I  was  expecting 
a  row,  but  there  wa'n't  any.  That  physical  director 
hesitated  for  half  a  shake,  but  that  was  all. 

"McCarty,"  says  Doctor  Wool,  "did  you  hear 
me?  Bring  that  boat  ashore." 

I  took  one  step  into  the  water. 

"Yes,  McCarty,"  says  I,  "bring  it  ashore.  And 
don't  forget  to  come  yourself,  'cause  I'm  waiting 
for  you." 

McCarty  was  just  stepping  out  of  the  skiff.  He 
glared  at  me  and  doubled  up  his  fist. 

"McCarty!"  booms  the  big  voice  again.  "And 
you,  sir,  kindly  let  him  pass,  if  you  please." 

I  let  him  pass;  I  don't  know  why;  one  thing's 
sartin,  I  hadn't  been  intending  to. 

"Go  up  to  my  office  and  wait  for  me,"  orders 
the  Doctor. 

"Aw,  now,  Boss !"  pleads  McCarty.  "I — 'twas  all 
just  a  mistake.  I " 

"To  my  office.  I  will  hear  your — er — explanation 
later.  Go!" 

And  he  went.  Yes,  sir,  he  went!  And  I,  who 
had  been  jumping  up  and  down  with  the  hankering 

87 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to  get  at  him,  let  him  go  and  never  said  a  word. 
As  for  Thoph,  he'd  been  gone  quite  a  spell. 

The  Doctor  paraded  majestic  over  to  Miss  Erne- 
line. 

"Miss  Adams,"  says  he,  and  when  he  spoke 
to  her  the  purr  in  his  voice  got  stronger  and 
sweeter  and  more  wonderful  than  ever,  "I  trust 
you  have  suffered  no  actual — er — harm.  I  trust 
not." 

"Oh,  no — no — I  think  not,  Doctor.  I — I  am — 
my  nerves " 

"Nerves,  my  dear  madam,  are  what  we  permit 
them  to  be,  as  you  know.  I  am  certain  that  a  strong, 
womanly  nature,  such  as  yours.  .  .  .  Ah,  you  are 
better  already,  are  you  not?  Yes.  Quite  yourself 
again.  May  I  assist  you  to  rise?" 

He  put  one  hand  under  her  elbow  and  hiked  her 
up  out  of  that  sand  as  easy  as  if  she'd  been  a  feather 
weight,  which  she  wa'n't,  according  to  my  experi 
ence.  I  don't  mean  he  really  lifted  her  by  main 
strength — not  by  no  means.  He  kind  of  purred  her 
up,  if  such  a  thing's  possible. 

"You  are  yourself  again?"  says  he. 

"Yes.     I— I— think  so." 

"As  we  think,  we  are.  Er — Eureka,"  he  swung 
around  and  looked  at  the  Sparrow  girl;  "Eureka," 
he  says,  "may  I  ask  why  you  continue  to  decorate 

88 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

that — er — box;  and  why  you  do  not  come  to  Miss 

Adams's  aid?" 

Poor  Eureka  looked  scared  and  troubled. 

"I'm  setting  on  the  dog,"  says  she. 

Even  he  was  surprised,  I  cal'late. 

"The  dog?"  he  says. 

"Yes,  sir.  Mr.  McCarty's  dog — Pet,  you  know. 
He  set  him  onto  Mr.  Pratt." 

"Ah!  I  see — I  see.  And  now  you  are — er — re 
turning  the  compliment.  Very  good,  very  good." 

He  smiled,  and  that  smile  on  his  big  face  was 
like  sunshine  breaking  through  and  lighting  up  half 
a  mile  of  white  beach. 

"And  this — er — gentleman?"  waving  a  big  white 
hand  at  me. 

"That  is  Mr.  Pratt,"  says  Eureka,  prompt.  "He's 
a  friend  of  mine.  I  used  to  know  him  over  to 
Wellmouth." 

"He  saved  my  life,  Doctor  Wool,"  puts  in  Miss 
Emeline,  getting  fussed  up  again  and  beginning  to 
tremble.  "I  verily  believe  he  saved  my  life.  If  it 
were  not  for  him Oh,  Doctor,  if  you  knew " 

"There,  there !  My  dear  madam,  calm  yourself. 
Force  your  thoughts  in  the  right  direction.  I  shall 
know  all  very  soon.  I  shall  make  it  my  business 
to  know.  Meanwhile,  suppose  we  return  to  the — 
er — sanitarium,  if  you  please." 

89 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He  offered  her  his  arm  and  they  paraded 
toward  the  bushes.  At  the  edge  of  'em  he 
stopped. 

"Eureka,"  he  said,  "perhaps  your  friend  here  will 
assist  you  in  securing  the — er — dog.  Afterwards 
I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  bring  Mr. — er — Pratt 
to  me.  I  shall  wish  to  thank  him  for  the  service 
which  it — er — appears  he  has  rendered  our  dear 
Miss  Adams." 

"I'll  fetch  him  right  up,"  says  Eureka,  quick  as 
a  flash. 

"Why!  I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "I  ought  to  be 
getting  back  home.  I  was  cal'lating  to  dig  a  few 
clams  and  then  I  ought  to  see  Nate  Scudder.  That's 
what  I  come  over  fur." 

"Doubtless,  doubtless.  But  I  am  certain  you  will 
not  go  without  giving  me  a  moment.  I  shall  count 
upon  your  doing  so,  sir.  Say  no  more;  I  shall  count 
upon  it." 

And,  by  the  everlasting,  I  didn't  say  any  more. 
Somehow  or  'nother  I  couldn't.  Contradicting  him 
seemed  sort  of  ridiculous  and  useless,  like  a  hen's 
trying  to  stop  a  funeral  by  getting  in  the  way  of 
the  hearse. 

"And  now,  Miss  Adams,"  says  he. 

They  went  away  together.  I  looked  at  Eureka 
and  she  looked  at  me. 

90 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Ain't  he  the  grandest  thing!"  says  she,  in  a  sort 
of  whispering  hooray.  "Ain't  he?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "He's 
something,  sartin.  Anyhow,  I  never  see  anybody 
like  him." 

"That's  'cause  there  ain't  anybody  like  him.  And 
now  what'll  we  do  with  this  Pet  nuisance.  I  do 
believe  he's  et  a  hole  half  through  this  box  al 
ready." 

He  hadn't,  but  he'd  dug  himself  'most  out  from 
underneath  it.  I  filled  in  the  hole  he'd  made,  piled 
sand  a  foot  deep  all  round  the  edges,  and  laid  four 
or  five  big  chunks  of  driftwood  and  pine  stumps  on 
top  of  the  box.  Then  Eureka  got  up. 

"There!"  says  she,  "that'll  keep  him  jailed  for  a 
spell,  I  shouldn't  wonder,  and  McCarty  can  let  him 
out  himself  by  and  by.  He  can  breathe;  there's 
holes  enough  in  the  box.  You  'tend  to  your  skiff 
and  boat,  Mr.  Pratt,  and  then  come  right  up  to  the 
house.  I'll  be  waiting  for  you  in  the  kitchen.  Your 
luck,  the  tea  leaf  luck,  has  started;  mind  what  I  tell 
you." 

I  laughed  for  the  first  time  in  an  hour. 

"If  the  rest  of  it's  like  what's  hit  me  already," 
says  I,  "I  cal'late  I'll  finish  afore  it  does." 

Thirty  or  forty  minutes  later  I  knocked  on  the 
kitchen  door  of  the  Rest  place.  I  looked  around, 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

as  I  walked  acrost  the  lawn,  for  my  old  chum  Apple 
cart,  or  some  others  of  the  Right  Livers,  but  there 
wa'n't  none  in  sight. 

Eureka  was  waiting  for  me,  all  on  tiptoe  with 
excitement. 

"He  expects  you,"  says  she.  "He's  in  his  office 
and  you're  to  come  right  in.  I've  told  him  all  about 
you.  It's  perfectly  splendid.  Don't  you  dare  say 
anything  but  yes,  Mr.  Pratt." 

Afore  I  could  ask  what  I  was  to  say  yes  to,  she 
was  piloting  me  through  two  or  three  big  rooms,  a 
whale  of  a  dining-room  amongst  'em,  and  knocking 
on  a  door. 

"Come  in,"  booms  the  big  voice.  Hitting  a  bass 
drum  with  a  spoonful  of  sugared  hasty-pudding 
might  have  sounded  something  like  it;  I  can't  think 
of  any  other  soft-slick-loud-sweet  noise  that  would 
fill  the  bill.  Eureka  opened  the  door. 

"Here  he  is,  Doctor  Wool,"  says  she. 

And  in  I  marched. 

He  was  sitting  at  the  other  side  of  a  big  table, 
and  the  sun,  streaming  in  at  the  window  behind  him, 
lit  up  the  shiny  top  of  his  head  like  a  glory. 

"Be  seated,  sir,"  says  he.  "Be  seated,  I 
beg." 

I  set  down  in  the  chair  he  pointed  out  to  me.  He 
smiled  and  thanked  me  for  doing  it.  I  never  thought 

92 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

afore  that  setting  down  was  anything  to  be  proud  of 
'special,  but  that  smile  and  the  thanks  made  me  feel 
as  if  I'd  done  something  wuth  while.  I  told  him 
he  was  welcome. 

"Will  you  pardon  me,"  says  he,  "if  for  a  moment 
I  continue  with  the  little  task  upon  which  I  was 
engaged.  A  mere  business  letter — a  trifle  only — 
and  yet  trifles  neglected  make  the  mountains  upon 
which  the  ships  of  our  lives  are  so  often  wrecked. 
You  agree  with  me,  I'm  sure." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  says  I,  "I've  noticed  it  oftem." 

And  yet  now,  as  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  re 
member  ever  hearing  of  a  ship  being  wrecked  on  a 
mountain. 

So  he  went  on  with  his  letter  writing  and  I  looked 
around  the  room. 

'Twa'n't  a  very  big  room — I  learned  afterwards 
that  it  had  been  the  first  floor  bedroom  of  the  old 
house — and  there  wa'n't  much  in  it,  in  the  furniture 
line.  Two  or  three  chairs,  the  desk,  and  a  table 
with  a  vase  full  of  posies  on  it,  that  was  about  all. 
The  walls,  though,  was  covered  with  pictures,  mainly 
framed  photographs  and  mottoes;  there  was  a  lot 
of  letters  framed  amongst  'em,  too.  From  where 
I  set  I  could  read  a  few  of  the  letters. 

One  had  "White  House"  printed  at  the  top  of  it. 
The  writing  underneath  went  like  this : 

93 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

The  President  directs  me  to  thank  Doctor 
Wool  for  his  favor  of  the  igth. 

So  and  So,  Secretary, 
Per  R. 

Another  was  headed  "Office  of  J.  P.  Astorbilt  & 
Co.,  Wall  Street,  New  York." 

Mr.  Astorbilt  regrets  that  he  will  be  unable 
to  see  Doctor  Wool  on  the  date  named  in  the 
latter' s  letter. 

There  was  a  good  many  more,  and  the  photo* 
graphs  was  mainly  of  folks  whose  pictures  I'd  seen 
in  the  newspapers,  play-actors  and  congressmen  and 
such.  Each  one  had  a  name  on  it,  but  whether  they'd 
been  wrote  by  the  folks  themselves  or  not  I  wa'n't 
able  to  say.  The  mottoes  was  generally  good  ad 
vice,  like,  "Man,  Know  Thyself,"  and  "The  Proper 
Study  for  Mankind  Is  Man."  In  the  middle  place 
of  all  was  a  crayon  enlargement  of  Doctor  Wool, 
setting  in  a  chair  and  beaming  grand  and  good  and 
kind  on  all  creation.  He  had  a  book  open  on  his 
knee,  and  you  could  see  that  he  was  thinking  high 
thoughts  and  enjoying  'em.  Over  this  picture  was  a 
big  sign,  "As  We  Think,  We  Are,"  which  was  what 
he'd  said  to  Miss  Emeline  on  the  beach,  I  recol 
lected. 

94 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  stared  around  at  the  decorations  and  the  Doc 
tor  went  on  with  his  letter-writing.  By  and  by  he 
laid  down  the  pen  and  turned  to  me. 

"Ah!"  says  he,  "you  are  observing  my  collection, 
I  perceive.  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"Seems  to  be — er — first  rate,"  says  I,  not  knowing 
just  how  to  answer. 

"Little  tributes,  little  tributes,  Mr.  Pratt.  Trifles 
in  themselves,  but  gratifying  in  the  mass,  gratifying 
— yes.  It  is  pleasant,  although  humbling,  to  feel 
that  one  is,  even  in  a  small  way,  a  benefactor  to  one's 
fellow  creatures.  They  flatter  me." 

"That  one  don't  flatter  you  none,"  says  I,  waving 
my  hand  to  the  crayon  enlargement.  "It's  as  natu 
ral  as  can  be.  Joash  Kenney,  over  to  Wellmouth, 
never  done  a  better  enlargement  than  that;  and  he's 
the  best  enlarger  we've  got  around  here." 

He  bowed  and  thanked  me  again.  I  begun  to 
fidget  a  little.  Seemed  to  me  'twas  time  for  what 
ever  he  wanted  to  see  me  about  to  get  out  from 
under  hatches. 

"You  had  something  you  wanted  to  say  to  me,  I 
believe,  Doctor  Wool,"  I  hove  out,  by  way  of  sug 
gestion. 

He  moved  his  big  head  up  and  down  slow. 

"I  did,"  says  he;  "I  did— er— yes." 

"Then — then   suppose  you   say  it,   if  'tain't  too 
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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

much  to  ask.  I  ain't  got  none  too  much  time, 
and " 

He  stopped  me  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "Time," 
he  purred,  "is  for  slaves,  as  the  wise  man  has  said." 

"It  and  the  tide  waits  for  no  man;  that's  been 
said,  too.  And  if  I'm  going  to  do  any  errand  over 
to  Wapatomac  and  get  back  to  Wellmouth  by  night, 
I  mustn't  set  here." 

"I  trust  you  will  not  go  back  to  Wellmouth  to 
night,  Mr.  Pratt." 

"I've  got  to." 

"I  trust  not,  Mr.  Pratt.  Eureka,  our  accom 
plished  young  friend  in  the  kitchen,  tells  me  that 
you  are  out  of  employment  just  now.  Is  that  true?" 

I  fetched  a  long  breath.  The  dog,  and  Miss 
Emeline,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  had  made  me  forget 
my  other  troubles  for  a  spell;  now  they  come  back 
onto  me  hard. 

"It's  true  enough,  all  right,"  I  said.  "More's 
the  pity,  it's  true  enough." 

"Yes — er — yes.  I  see,  I  see.  Well — er — Mr. 
Pratt,  I  trust  we  may  be  able  to  change  all  that,  to 
overcome  that  difficulty — er — yes." 

I  straightened  up  in  my  chair. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  I  wanted  to  know. 

"I  will  explain  presently.  In  the  meantime  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  something  about 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

yourself?  What  you  have  been  doing,  and  the  like. 
If  you  please." 

I  told  him  about  everything  I  could  think  of;  and 
what  I  couldn't  think  of  he  did.  He  asked  about  six 
questions  during  my  yarn,  but  every  question  had  a 
point  to  it.  At  the  end  he  bowed  and  thanked  me 
once  more.  As  a  thanker  he  was  main-truck  high;  I 
never  see  anybody  so  polite. 

"That  will  do,"  he  said.  "This  bears  out  Eu- 
reka's  story  and  what  Miss  Adams  has  said.  She — 
and  I,  of  course — are  much  indebted  to  you  for  your 
coolness  this  morning." 

"There  wasn't  much  coolness  about  it.  I  never 
was  hotter  in  my  life — my  head,  anyhow.  My  feet 
and  legs  was  cool  enough,  when  I  was  in  that 
water." 

I  grinned,  but  he  was  sober  as  a  deacon.  Grins 
seemed  to  be  scurce  on  those  premises. 

"How  would  you  like,"  he  says,  "to  remain  with 
us;  to  become  one  of  our  little  circle?" 

"Here?    At  this — this  place?     Me?" 

"Yes." 

"But  why?  I  ain't  a  Right  Liver.  There's  noth 
ing  ails  me." 

"You  misunderstand.  I  mean,  how  would  you 
like  to  enter  my  employ?  To  become  one  of  the 
staff  of  the  Sea  Breeze  Bluff  Sanitarium?  To  join 

97 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

us  in  our  great  work  for  the  uplift  of  humanity?" 

I  stared  at  him. 

"Me?"  says  I,  again.  "You  mean  to  give  me 
a  job?  What  kind  of  a  job?  What  could  I  do 
here?" 

"Various  things.  Superintend  the  grounds,  at 
tend  to  the  livestock,  cut  the  lawns " 

"Hold  onl  Hold  on!"  I  broke  in,  forgetting 
my  reverence  in  the  shock  of  surprise.  "What  are 
you  talking  about,  Mister?  You've  got  Thoph 
Pease  for  that  job." 

He  waved  his  hand  as  if  he  was  brushing  away 
a  fly. 

"Pease,"  he  says,  "is  no  longer  with  us.  The 
society  of  the  late  lamented  Theophilus  is  ours  no 
more.  He  has  departed." 

"Fired?" 

"One  might  call  it  that." 

"You  don't  say!  But  there's  McCarty.  Him 
and  me  would  never  cruise  together,  not  after  this 
morning's  doings." 

For  the  first  time  since  I'd  met  him  he  acted 
human  and  not  like  a  plaster  saint.  His  eyebrows 
pulled  together  and  his  eyes  snapped. 

"McCarty,"  says  he,  "will  cease  to  trouble  us, 
also." 

"You'll  fire  him,  too?" 
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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He  brushed  off  another  fly.  "Suppose  we  con 
sider  you  and  not  McCarty,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
accept  my  offer,  Mr.  Pratt?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "I'd  accept  'most  any 
thing,  but  it  does  seem  to  me  that  I'd  be  as  much 
out  of  place  here  as  a  chunk  of  tar  in  a  snowbank. 
What  good  would  I  be?  I  don't  know  anything 
about  doctoring." 

Then  he  commenced  to  talk,  really  talk,  and  in 
side  of  two  flaps  of  a  herring's  fin  he  had  me  mes 
merized,  like  Eben  Holt's  boy  at  the  town  hall 
show.  He  talked  about  the  ills  of  humanity,  and 
the  glories  of  health  and  Nature  and  service  and 
land  knows  what  all.  My  brain  was  doing  flip- 
flaps,  but  I  managed  to  make  out  that  the  Sea 
Breeze  Bluff  Sanitarium  for  Right  Livers  and  Rest 
was  a  branch  station  of  Paradise,  and  to  be  con 
nected  with  it  was  like  being  made  an  angel  with 
out  going  through  the  regular  preparations.  It 
was  a  chance  he  was  offering  me,  a  wonderful,  eight 
een  carat,  solid  gold  chance.  I  must  take  it,  of 
course. 

He  run  down,  after  a  spell,  and  I  got  up  off  my 
chair. 

"Well!"  says  I.     "Well!     I— I " 

"Say  no  more,"  says  he.     "I  see  that  you  accept. 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

The  sanitarium  has  made  an  acquisition,  Mr.  Pratt. 
You  may  begin  your  new  duties  at  once." 

I  was  on  my  way  to  the  door,  but  all  at  once, 
through  the  fog  in  my  head,  I  begun  to  sight  one 
reef  that  I  hadn't  paid  any  attention  to  afore. 

"What — what  wages  do  I  get?"  I  asked. 

He  stood  up  and  laid  a  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"In  a  matter  like  this,"  he  says,  "I  never  permit 
expense  to  stand  in  the  way.  Salary  is  a  secondary 
consideration.  You  will  receive  thirty  dollars  a 
month  and  your  board.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Pratt. 
As  you  yourself  might  say,  'A  happy  voyage.'  Good 
morning." 

I  went  out  and  through  the  dining-room.  At  the 
kitchen  door  Eureka  was  waiting  for  me.  She 
give  one  look  at  my  face  and  then  she  grabbed  me 
by  both  hands. 

"You've  said  yes,"  she  says.  "He's  hired  you, 
ain't  he?" 

"Yes,"  says  I,  slow,  "he's  hired  me,  I  cal'late. 
I  didn't  have  to  say  yes;  he  said  it  all." 

She  was  as  tickled  as  a  cat  with  a  litter  of  six 
double-pawed  kittens. 

"I  knew  it!"  she  sung  out.  "I  knew  it!  The 
luck's  come  I  I  told  you  'twould !  And  the  money, 
too!" 

I  leaned  up  against  the  door-jamb. 
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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Money!"  I  says  slow.  "Money!.  .  .  .  Humph! 
A  dollar  a  day  and  board  is  money,  I  suppose,  but 
I — well,  v  I  sha'n't  declare  no  extry  dividends  right 
away,  I  can  see  that.  He  said  salary  was  a  second 
consideration.  Well,  I  guess  'tis,  Eureka!  I  guess 
'tis." 


CHAPTER   V 

AND  so  that's  how  I  came  to  ship  as  fo'mast 
hand  aboard  the  Right  Livers'  Rest.  And 
'twas  a  high  old  craft,  I  tell  you.  I  went 
down  to  the  beach  once  more  and  fixed  up  the  Dora 
Bassett  and  the  skiff.  McCarty  wa'n't  nowhere  in 
sight,  though  I  judged  he'd  been  there,  for  the  big 
box  was  laying  upside  down  and  Pet  wa'n't  visible. 
I  didn't  feel  bad  on  that  account.  I  hoped  he 
never  would  be  visible  to  me  again,  nor  his  master 
neither. 

Then  I  walked  up  to  the  kitchen. 

"Here  I  be,  Eureka,"  says  I.  "You  can  report 
me  on  board  and  ready  for  duty.  What'll  I  do 
first." 

"I'm  to  show  you  around  first,"  she  says,  "so 
you'll  be  kind  of  familiar  with  the  premises.  The 
Doctor  told  me  to.  Don't  you  want  to  put  your 
things  in  your  room?" 

"Ain't  got  any  things  with  me,"  says  I,  "except 
those  I've  got  on.  The  rest  are  in  my  chest  over 
to  Sophrony's.  I'll  write  and  have  her  send  'em 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

by  express  to-morrow.     Meantime  you'll  have  to 
'take  me  as  I  am,'  as  the  hymn  tune  says." 

"Oh,  it  won't  make  any  difference,"  says  she. 
"You'll  have  your  uniform  in  a  day  or  so,  anyway." 

"Uniform?" 

"Of  course.  All  the  help  here  wear  uniforms 
when  they're  on  duty.  I've  got  mine  on  now.  Ain't 
you  noticed  it?" 

She  was  wearing  the  same  white  rig  she'd  had  on 
the  night  afore.  'Twas  so  clean  and  starchy  it 
pretty  nigh  put  a  body's  eyes  out,  but  there  was  no 
uniform  to  it,  fur's  I  could  see.  And  I  said  so. 

"But  it  is  a  uniform,  just  the  same,"  she  says. 
"See  here." 

She  pointed  to  a  big  round  thing,  pretty  nigh  as 
big  as  the  top  of  a  teacup,  that  she  wore  fastened 
at  her  throat. 

"Didn't  you  notice  that?"  she  says. 

"Couldn't  very  well  help  noticing  it,  unless  I 
was  struck  blind.  What  is  it?" 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  'twas?" 

"Why — why,  it's  a  breast-pin,  ain't  it?" 

"Breast-pin !  The  idea !  Breast-pins  ain't  the 
style  nowadays.  It's  my  badge.  See  the  initials : 
'S.  B.  B.  S.'  They  stand  for  Sea  Breeze  Bluff 
Sanitarium.  We  all  wear  one  of  those.  You'll 
have  one." 

103 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Will,  hey?  You  don't  say!  And  have  I  got  to 
rig  up  in  white,  too?" 

"Of  course.     Oh,  I'm  just  dying  to  see  you!" 

"Humph!  Better  wait  till  you  do  see  me;  then 
you  may  want  to  die.  My  red  face  sticking  out  of 
the  top  of  a  white  jacket'll  look  fine,  won't  it!  All 
I'll  need  is  a  black  bow  necktie  to  make  me  a  reg^ 
'lar  lighthouse.  But  there's  something  else  on  that 
badge,  ain't  there?" 

"Yup.  That's  our  motto,  Think  Right.'  The 
Doctor's  great  on  folks  thinking  right.  He  says  a 
right  thought  is  two-thirds  of  the  battle.  You  can 
do  almost  anything  if  you  only  think  you  can." 

"So?  Well,  I  wish  I'd  known  that  this  morning; 
maybe  I'd  have  done  that  dog  sooner.  Somebody 
ought  to  teach  him  to  think  right,  seems  to  me." 

"Aw,  you're  just  fooling.  But  it  ain't  any  joke; 
it's  so.  It's  helped  me  a  lot.  For  instance,  when 
you  was  here  last  night  and  told  me  how  much  you 
wanted  a  job,  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  think  you 
into  one.  And  I  have;  anyhow,  you've  got  it." 

"That's  so.  Well,  I  'most  wish  you'd  thought 
a  little  harder;  maybe  you'd  have  histed  the  wages 
some." 

"No,  you'll  have  to  do  that  yourself.  You  must 
keep  thinking,  'I  want  more  money!  I  want  more 
money!'  That's  what  you  must  do." 

104 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"I  will.  'Twon't  be  a  mite  of  trouble  for  me 
to  do  that,  Eureka.  I'll  think  that  in  my  sleep." 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  we  started  off  to  look  over 
the  premises.  There  was  consider'ble  of  'em — big 
yards,  and  an  acre  or  two  of  woodland,  and  a  barn, 
and  sheds,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  I  met  the 
rest  of  the  kitchen  help,  the  cook  and  the  girl  that 
done  most  of  the  waiting  on  table.  The  cook  was 
a  big  woman  about  the  size  of  Sophrony  Gott,  and 
her  name  turned  out  to  be  Olivia  Gunnison.  The 
girl's  name  was  Annabelle  Atterbury.  They  was 
both  pleasant  spoken  enough  to  me,  but  I  didn't  take 
a  big  shine  to  'em,  somehow.  I  had  an  idea  that 
Olivia  could  be  pretty  cross-grained  if  she  took  a 
notion,  and  Annabelle  run  strong  to  crimps  and 
flounces  and  ribbon  bows.  She  had  bows  at  her 
neck  and  bows  on  her  elbows  and  the  biggest  bow 
of  all  on  top  of  her  crimps. 

"Say,  look  here,  Eureka,"  says  I,  when  we  was 
under  way  once  more,  "our  old  chum  Applecart, 
or  Applegate,  or  whatever  his  name  is,  may  live  on 
raw  steak  and  prunes,  but  that  Gunnison  woman 
don't,  I'll  bet  high  on  that.  She  ain't  taking  no 
anti-fat  remedies,  I  cal'late." 

"Of  course  not.  The  servants  don't  take  treat 
ment,  'tain't  likely.  It's  too  expensive  for  them." 

If  that  cook's  appetite  was  corresponding  to  her 
105 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

size,  I  should  have  figgered  the  treatment  was  the 
less  expensive  of  the  two,  in  the  long  run.  But  I 
didn't  say  nothing;  'twas  comforting  to  me  to  know 
that  I  could  eat  what  I  wanted. 

"What's  Annabelle  rigged  up  so  gay  for?"  I 
wanted  to  know.  "The  way  she's  trimmed  ship 
you'd  think  the  Admiral  was  expected  aboard.  And 
it's  the  forenoon,  too." 

Eureka  sniffed.  "Um-hm,"  says  she,  "forenoon 
or  afternoon  don't  make  any  difference,  fur's  that's 
concerned." 

"She  runs  strong  to  bows,  don't  she." 

"Yup.  And  you  can  spell  bow  more  ways  than 
one." 

I  thought  this  over.     "I  see,"  says  I.    "Yes,  yes." 

"You  will  see  if  you  stay  here  long  enough.  Al- 
pheus  Parker,  that  drives  the  grocery  order  cart,  is 
her  latest." 

We  was  in  the  woods  by  now  and,  to  all  appear 
ances,  ten  miles  from  any  other  humans. 

"Where's  all  the  patients?"  says  I.  "I  ain't  laid 
eyes  on  one  of  'em  yet." 

"They're  taking  the  sand  bath,  most  of  'em. 
You'll  see  'em  pretty  soon." 

Sure  enough,  I  did.  And  'twas  a  sight  I  sha'n't 
forget  in  a  hurry.  We  come  out  of  the  woods  onto 
a  sandy,  shady  beach  in  a  little  cove,  something  like 

106 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  one  where  the  Dora  Bassett  was  moored,  only 
more  shut  in  and  out  of  sight.  Sticking  up  out  of 
that  beach  was  a  parcel  of  mounds  of  sand,  six  foot 
long  or  thereabouts,  each  of  'em,  and  rounded  on 
top,  with  what  I  thought  was  a  bunch  of  seaweed 
at  the  end. 

"Land  sakes!"  I  sung  out.  "What's  this — the 
graveyard?" 

And  I  hadn't  no  more'n  spoke  when,  if  you'll  be 
lieve  it,  the  seaweed  end  of  each  of  them  mounds 
moved.  'Twa'n't  seaweed  at  all,  'twas  a  head!  Yes, 
sir,  a  head,  laying  on  a  little  pillow.  Them  mounds 
was  folks,  living  folks,  buried  up  to  their  necks  in 
sand  and  laying  out  on  that  beach.  I  don't  know 
which  upset  me  most,  to  see  all  them  graves  in  the 
first  place  or  to  find  they  wa'n't  graves,  after  all. 

"These  are  some  of  the  patients,"  says  Eureka, 
cheerful.  "They're  taking  the  sand  bath,  same  as 
I  told  you." 

"But  what  for?  What  in  the  name  of  common 
sense ?" 

"  'Cause  it's  good  for  'em." 

"Goo<Hor'em?    Who  said  so?" 

"The  Doctor,  of  course.  He  ought  to  be  around 
here  somewheres,  but  I  don't  see  him.  Come  on,  I 
want  to  introduce  you." 

She  led  the  way  and  I  fell  into  her  wake.  When 
107 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  got  close  abreast  of  the  cemetery  I  could  see  that 
the  remains — the  patients,  I  mean — was  wearing 
bathing  suits,  just  as  if  they  was  in  swimming.  Some 
of  'em  was  buried  plumb  to  the  chin,  and  some  had 
one  arm  free  so's  they  could  turn  the  pages  of  the 
books  and  magazines  that  was  propped  up  in  front 
of  'em. 

"That's  something  new,"  says  Eureka,  "those 
books  and  things.  Usually  they  ain't  left  alone  like 
this.  The  Doctor's  generally  here,  or  I  am,  and 
we  read  to  'em  out  loud.  Here's  somebody  you 
know." 

'Twas  Miss  Emeline.  She  was  glad  to  see  me 
and  real  gracious  and  polite. 

"I  am  sure  the  sanitarium  has  made  a  great  ac 
quisition,"  she  says,  beaming  out  of  her  tomb.  "It 
is  needless,  I  am  certain,  for  me  to  tell  you  how 
grateful  I  am  to  you,  Mr.  Pratt." 

"Don't  say  a  word,  ma'am,"  says  I.  "I'm  only 
thankful  'tain't  no  worse  than  it  is.  There  was  one 
spell  when  I  didn't  know  but  we'd  both  be " 

I  was  going  to  say,  "ready  for  the  undertaker," 
but  I  hove  short  just  in  time.  Considering  where 
she  was,  I  thought  maybe  'twould  be  too  suggestive. 
She  didn't  seem  to  notice  I  hadn't  finished,  but 
smiled  and  bowed  a  good-by  and  went  on  reading 
her  book.  The  label  on  the  cover  of  it  was  "Sun- 

108 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

beams  and  Dewdrops,  by  Pansy  Rush";  I  could  see 
the  gilt  letters  plain,  as  I  went  past  the  foot  of  her 
grave. 

"It's  a  love  story,"  says  Eureka,  noticing  what  I 
was  looking  at.  "She's  always  reading  love  stories, 
Miss  Emeline  is — when  she  ain't  studying  up  her 
family  tree." 

"I  should  think  she  was  'most  too  antique  for 
them  kind  of  yarns,"  I  whispered  back. 

"You  don't  understand.  She's  had  a  love  story 
of  her  own,  Miss  Emeline  has;  a  beautiful  one, 
beautiful  but  sad.  I'll  tell  it  to  you  some  time. 
Here's  somebody  else  you  know.  How  d'ye  do, 
Colonel  Applegate?" 

'Twas  the  Colonel,  sure  enough,  and  his  heap  of 
sand  was  a  boy's  size  Bunker  Hill,  as  you  might 
say.  He  hardly  glanced  at  me — 'twas  dark  when 
we  met  by  the  well,  and  I  cal'late  he  couldn't  have 
seen  my  face  good — but  the  look  he  give  Eureka 
was  a  combination  of  mad  and  scare. 

"Say,"  he  whispers,  eager,  "have  you  told  Wool 
about — about  last  night?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

"Well,  don't  you  do  it.  You  keep  a  still  tongue 
in  your  head  and  you  won't  lose  anything  by  it; 
understand?" 

Eureka  winked  at  me  on  the  off  side. 
109 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"I  don't  know,  Colonel,"  she  says.  "It's  my  duty 
to  report  any  breaking  of  the  rules,  and  you  broke 
about  all  there  was,  if  what  Mr.  Pratt  here  says  is 
so." 

He  looked  at  me  then.  "Pratt!"  he  growls. 
"Who  in  blazes  is  Pratt?" 

"This  gentleman  here.  He's  took  Thoph  Pease's 
place  and  is  going  to  work  for  us  regular." 

"Colonel,"  says  I,  "how'd  you  like  another  ham 
sandwich?" 

He  started  so  that  a  bucketful  of  sand  slid  down 
off  his  hill.  "Good  Lord!"  he  sung  out,  under  his 
breath,  "are  you  that Was  it  you?" 

"It  sartin  was." 

"Good  Lord!     Have  you  told  anybody?" 

"Nobody  but  Eureka." 

"Then  don't  you  do  it,  there's  a  good  chap. 
Heavens  and  earth!  I've  got  troubles  enough  on 
your  account;  I  don't  need  any  more." 

I  cal'late  Eureka  didn't  catch  on  to  what  he  was 
driving  at,  but  I  did.  I'd  et  some  of  them  sandr 
wiches  myself. 

"I  told  you  they  wa'n't  fit  for  human  fodder," 
says  I.  "Those  sandwiches " 

"It  wa'n't  the  sandwiches;  it  was  that  d n 

doughnut.  It  weighed  a  pound,  and  it  is  right  in 
the  place  it  went  when  I  swallowed  it;  hasn't  moved 

no 


"'Colonel,'  says  I,  'how'd  you  like  another  ham  sandwich?' 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

nor  digested  one  inch.  Say,  paw  a  ton  or  so  of 
this  sand  off  me,  won't  you,  and  give  it  a  chance." 

I  laughed  out  loud,  and  Eureka's  eyes  were  snap 
ping  with  fun. 

"All  right,"  I  says.  "I'll  keep  mum,  and  I  guess 
Eureka  will,  too.  Won't  you,  Eureka?" 

"Ye — es,  I  will,  this  time.  But  you  mustn't  do 
it  again,  Colonel  Applegate.  If  Doctor  Wool  knew 
what  you'd  been  up  to  you  wouldn't  have  anything 
to  eat  for  two  days.  He'd  even  take  away  your 
prunes  and  things." 

"If  he'd  take  away  this  doughnut,  I'd  be  willing 
to  risk  it.  What  the  brimstone  blazes  I  ever  came 
to  this  place  for  I  don't  know." 

I  laughed  again.  "It  strikes  me,"  says  I,  "that 
you  ain't  read  your  badge  lately,  Cap'n — Colonel,  I 
should  say.  You  ain't  thinking  right.  As  we  think, 
we  are,  you  know." 

"Humph!  I  think  I  was  a  prize  jackass,  and 
I'm  one  yet.  There!  clear  out;  I'm  going  to  try 
to  get  a  nap  if  that  doughnut  don't  object." 

A  little  ways  off  from  the  Colonel,  in  a  sort  of 
private  lot  by  themselves,  was  a  big,  red-faced,  stout 
woman  and  a  nice-looking  young  girl.  The  woman 
had  a  double  chin  and  diamonds,  and  was  reading 
through  a  pair  of  gold-band  specs  mounted  on  a 
gold  handle.  As  we  came  nigher  to  her  she  turned 

in 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

her  head  and  stared  at  us  through  the  specs.  If 
we'd  been  a  couple  of  wooden  posts  she  couldn't 
have  stared  any  steadier  or  with  any  less  regard 
for  our  feelings. 

"Hortense,"  says  she,  not  taking  the  trouble  to 
lower  her  voice  any  to  speak  of,  "who  are  these 
persons?" 

The  girl  acted  real  embarrassed.  She  whispered 
something.  It  had  about  as  much  effect  on  the  old 
lady  as  a  teaspoonful  of  water  might  have  on  a 
bonfire. 

"What?"  she  snaps.  "I  asked  you  who  they 
were." 

"Hush,  Mother,"  says  the  girl.  "It  is  the  house 
keeper.  Good  morning,  Eureka." 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Hortense,"  answers  Eu 
reka,  trying  to  look  as  if  she  hadn't  heard  any  of 
the  rest  of  it.  "Good  morning,  Mrs.  Todd." 

The  old  lady  did  a  little  more  of  the  wooden 
post  business.  Then  she  put  down  her  gold  spy 
glass. 

"Umph,"  says  she.  "It's  you,  is  it,  Eureka! 
Mercy,  what  a  name!  Where  on  earth  did  you 
get  it?" 

"Don't  know,  ma'am.  I've  had  it  ever  since  I 
can  remember.  I  cal'late  it's  one  Pa  dug  up  some- 
wheres.  He's  great  on  names,  Pa  is.  This  is  our 

112 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

new  man,  him  that's  going  to  take  Th'ophilus's  job, 
you  know.  Mr.  Pratt,  let  me  make  you  acquainted 
with  Mrs.  Cordova  Todd  and  Miss  Hortense 
Todd." 

The  girl  smiled  real  sweet  and  pretty  and  bowed. 
All  her  ma  said  was  "Umph!"  What  I  said  don't 
amount  to  nothing;  'twas  the  regulation  lie  about 
being  pleased  to  know  'em. 

"Mr.  Pratt's  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  explained 
Eureka.  "He's  a  mighty  nice  man,  too.  And  there 
ain't  anybody  on  the  Cape  who  can  sail  a  boat 
better'n  he  can." 

Miss  Hortense  acted  interested.  "Really?"  she 
says.  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  Perhaps  Doctor  Wool 
will  let  us  go  sailing  sometimes.  I'm  ever  so  fond 
of  the  water,  Mr.  Pratt." 

"Tickled  to  take  you  out  any  time,  Miss,"  says 
I.  "And  the  Dora  Bassett's  a  good,  able  boat,  if  I 
do  say  it." 

'Twas  all  I  had  a  chance  to  say.  Marm  Todd 
ordered  her  daughter  to  be  quiet. 

"You  know  the  sand  bath  is  an  hour  of  complete 
relaxation,"  says  she.  "Avoid  unnecessary  conver 
sation,  daughter." 

She  didn't  avoid  it  a  whole  lot  herself.  Her 
voice  was  one  of  the  kind  that  carry  a  good  ways. 
We  hadn't  gone  fur  afore  I  heard  her  say: 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Hortense,  how  many  times  must  I  caution  you 
against  familiarity  with  servants?  You  will  ruin 
that  girl  with  the  extraordinary  name  if  you  are 
not  careful.  I  don't  care  if  she  is  Miss  Adams's 
pet  fad  at  present.  Other  people's  fads  are  not 
necessarily  ours.  And  did  you  notice  that  creature 
with  her?  A  salt-water  barbarian!  Why  couldn't 
the  Doctor  have  engaged  a  civilized  being?  An 
other  yokel!  As  if  there  were  not  enough  already." 

Eureka's  temper's  about  as  smooth  and  hard 
to  stir  up  as  the  average,  but  she  was  hopping 
now. 

"Extraordinary  name,  hey!"  she  snaps.  "Well, 
if  I  was  labeled  Evangeline  Cordova  Todd,  I'd 
keep  still  when  names  was  mentioned.  What's  a 
yokel,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"You've  got  me,"  says  I.  "I  cal'lated  I'd  been 
called  about  everything  during  my  going  to  sea,  but 
yokel's  bran'  new.  However,  whatever  'tis,  I  judge 
I'm  it.  Sweet  old  gal,  ain't  she?  The  young  one 
seems  to  be  nice  enough,  though.  And  good-look 
ing,  too." 

Eureka  said  the  Todds  was,  next  to  Miss  Erne- 
line  and  Applegate,  the  star  boarders  at  the  Right 
Livers'  Rest.  Mrs.  Evangeline  Cordova  was  being 
treated  for  something  or  other,  she  nor  nobody 
knew  exactly  what.  Hortense,  the  daughter,  was 

114 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

there  because  her  mother  was.  The  old  lady  never 
let  her  out  of  reach  of  her  apron-strings. 

"Scared  she'll  fall  in  love  with  somebody  that 
ain't  a  walking  money-bag,  I  guess  likely,"  said  Eu 
reka.  "All  right,  maybe  she'll  be  surprised  some 
day.  True  love  always  wins  in  the  end." 

"Does,  hey?"  says  I.  "How  do  you  know  so 
much  about  it?  You  ain't  in  love,  are  you,  Eu 
reka?" 

She  reddened  up  like  a  cooked  lobster. 

"Course  not!"  says  she.  "But  I've  read  enough 
stories  to  know  it  always  turns  out  that  way.  Why, 
in  'Madeline,  the  Shirtwaist  Maker' — that's  a 
story  in  the  Home  Comforter,  Mr.  Pratt — nobody 
thought  the  Duke  of  Lowescraft  would  marry 
Madeline,  but  he  did;  not  till  the  very  last  number, 
though.  Afore  that  they  had  the  most  awful  times. 
You'd  hardly  believe  such  things  could  happen." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  I  couldn't,  that's  a  fact. 
But  there  ain't  any  dukes  after  the  Todd  girl,  is 
there?" 

"There's — but  there!  I'm  forgetting  what  Miss 
Emeline's  always  saying  about  talking  too  much.  I 
sha'n't  say  another  word.  But  I  know  what  I  know, 
and,  if  you  keep  your  eyes  open,  maybe  you'll  know, 
too,  pretty  soon." 

My  eyes  was  fairly  well  open  already.    Of  all  the 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

queer  collections  of  humans  outside  of  a  crazy  asy 
lum,  it  seemed  to  me  this  sanitarium  was  the  cup 
winner.  But,  after  all,  I  shouldn't  have  expected 
nothing  different.  When  you're  well  enough  off  so's 
you  don't  have  to  fret  about  anything  but  your  heft 
or  your  diseases  you  begin  to  get  queer,  I  suppose. 
And  the  queerer  the  cures  for  those  ailings  the  big 
ger  the  attraction.  A  place  like  the  Right  Livers' 
Rest  was  bound  to  draw  freaks,  same  as  molasses 
draws  flies. 

I  met  the  balance  of  the  draft  that  forenoon.  Doc 
tor  Wool  showed  up  in  a  little  while  with  some  of 
'em  in  tow.  They'd  been  for  a  walk,  it  turned  out. 
There  was  the  three  fat  men  that  I'd  seen  cruising 
across  the  lawn  in  company  with  Applecart  and  Mc- 
Carty  that  first  night.  They  was  mainly  short  of 
breath  and  long  on  perspiration,  and  their  names 
was  Smith,  and  Greenbaum,  and  Hendricks.  Smith 
and  Hendricks  left  the  Rest  works  a  month  or  so 
afterwards,  and  Greenbaum  didn't  amount  to  much, 
so  there's  no  use  describing  'em.  But  along  with 
'em  was  Clayton  Saunders  and  Professor  Quill,  and 
they,  as  things  turned  out,  amounted  to  a  good 
deal. 

Saunders  was  a  nice-looking,  pleasant-spoken 
young  chap,  about  twenty-four,  I  should  say.  He 
was  a  Right  Liver  on  account  of  his  having  been 

116 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

through  a  siege  of  sickness  and  not  getting  his 
strength  fast  enough.  Doctor  Wool  was  "building 
him  up,"  though,  to  look  at  him,  you'd  say  he  was 
built  a  plenty,  being  six  foot  over  all  and  broad  in 
the  beam  besides.  He  had  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  when 
he  talked  to  you,  and  him  and  I  were  friends  from 
the  first  go-off. 

Professor  Quill  was  just  as  long  and  thin  in  the 
daytime  as  he'd  looked  in  the  lamplight.  He  had 
a  kind,  dreamy  sort  of  face,  and  a  gentle,  absent- 
minded  way  of  speaking.  He'd  been  a  teacher  in 
a  little  one-horse  college  somewhere  and  was  edu 
cated  way  up  to  his  hair.  He  was  an  inventor,  too, 
though  none  of  his  inventions  had  amounted  to 
much,  fur's  money-making  went.  Between  the  in 
ventions  and  the  college  boys,  his  nerves  had  had 
a  breakdown  and  he'd  come  to  the  sanitarium.  A 
rich  cousin  of  his  had  sent  him  there;  that  was  the 
story,  according  to  Doctor  Wool's  tell.  The  Doc 
seemed  anxious  that  everyone  should  know  about 
that  rich  cousin. 

I  found  out  all  these  particulars  later,  of  course. 
Just  then  'twas  just  "Howdy  do"  and  not  much 
more.  And  yet,  considering  what  happened  after 
wards,  there  was  two  little  items  that  are  worth 
mentioning,  though  they  didn't  seem  much  at  the 
time. 

117 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Doctor  Wool  purred  a  word  or  two  to  Eureka 
and  me  and  then  led  Professor  Quill  around,  intro 
ducing  him  to  the  graveyard.  When  he  got  to  Miss 
Emeline  I  heard  the  Professor  give  a  little  "Oh!" 
in  that  meek  voice  of  his. 

"Why — why,  dear  me!"  he  said.  "Is  it  possible? 
Miss  Adams!  Bless  me,  I  didn't  expect " 

"Why,  Professor!"  broke  in  Miss  Emeline.  "Is 
it  you?  How  strange!  Doctor  Wool  told  me  a 
gentleman  named  Quill  was  expected  here,  but  I 
didn't  once  think  it  could  be  you.  How  do  you  do?" 

That  was  one  of  the  happenings.  The  other  was 
that,  as  Eureka  was  leading  me  away  toward  the 
house,  I  happened  to  look  back.  Clayton  Saunders, 
the  young  fellow  I  was  telling  you  about,  had  wan 
dered  over  alongside  the  Todd  lot  and  was  stand 
ing  there  talking  with  Miss  Hortense.  The  girl 
seemed  to  like  it  first  rate,  but  you  should  have  seen 
the  look  on  her  ma's  face. 

And  now,  being  acquainted  with  the  Right  Livers 
and  their  boss,  I  started  in  taking  up  Thoph  Pease's 
job  where  he  dropped  it.  And  he'd  dropped  con- 
sider'ble  of  it,  now  I  tell  you.  There  was  a  ship 
load  of  things  that  needed  to  be  done  right  off  and 
I  was  busy  catching  up.  I  cut  grass  and  milked  a 
cow  and  cleaned  out  her  stall  and  the  horse's,  and 
tidied  up  the  barn,  and  took  care  of  the  hens,  and 

118 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

helped  Eureka,  and  done  errands  to  the  village,  and 
dug  clams — for  the  help,  of  course ;  the  Livers  didn't 
get  anything  so  common  and  tasty  as  clams — and, 
between  jobs,  I  took  over  some  of  McCarty's  "phys 
ical  directing."  Not  much,  of  course — I  wa'n't  quali 
fied  for  "special  exercise" — but  I  piloted  the  heavy 
weight  brigade  on  some  of  their  walks  and  runs 
and  got  to  know  'em  pretty  well,  especially  Colonel 
Applegate,  who  put  in  the  most  of  his  spare  time 
cussing  the  Rest  shop  and  himself  for  coming  there. 
They  was  grown  men,  those  fat  folks,  but  they 
was  as  hard  to  handle  as  young  ones  in  school. 
They'd  come  there  to  be  cured,  and  they'd  paid 
money — lots  of  it — for  just  that;  consequently 
you'd  cal'late  they  would  want  to  do  what  the  Doc 
tor  ordered.  But  not  much ;  they  mustn't  drink  cold 
water,  so  they  would  drink  it  every  chance  they  got. 
They  mustn't  eat  sweet  stuff,  so  if  I  didn't  keep  an 
eye  on  'em  they'd  buy  a  pie  off  the  bake  cart  and 
bolt  it  down  as  fast  as  they  could.  The  Colonel 
wa'n't  quite  as  bad;  his  sandwich  and  doughnut 
experience  had  warned  him,  I  cal'late,  but  the  others 
was  trials.  They  knew  'twas  bad  for  their  extry 
flesh  and  that  they'd  have  dyspepsy  and  repentance 
afterwards,  but  that  didn't  make  any  difference. 
Why,  they'd  even  buy  striped  stick  candy  and  crunch 
that;  and  I  bet  they  hadn't  any  one  of  'em  tasted 

119 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

candy  since  they  was  boys.  If  there  ever  was  a 
proof  of  the  contrary  streak  in  human  nature,  that 
fleshy  quartette  was  it.  As  for  liquor,  that  was  for 
bid  especial,  so  they  talked  about  it  most  of  the 
time.  They  found  out  that  Pease  and  McCarty 
had  been  given  clearance  papers  for  getting  tight, 
and  that  set  'em  going  at  a  great  rate. 

"Fired  for  taking  a  drink!"  says  Hendricks. 
"Think  of  it!  Why,  a  chap  ought  to  be  promoted 
for  being  able  to  locate  one  in  this  Sahara." 

"Say,  Pratt,"  says  Applegate,  "would  they  fire 
me,  think,  if  I  got  loaded?  Let's  try  it  and  see. 
'Twill  be  an  interesting  experiment.  I'll  give  you 
ten  dollars  for  a  Scotch  high  ball." 

"Better  keep  your  ten,"  says  I.  "If  you'd  kept 
the  five  hundred  you  paid  to  get  in  here  you  could 
have  bought  enough  Scotch  to  swim  in,  if  that's 
what  you  want." 

That  always  shut  'em  up.  The  mention  of  that 
five  hundred  was  better'n  the  "gold  cure"  for  break 
ing  the  alcohol  craving.  They'd  put  in  the  next 
half-hour  swearing  because  they'd  been  such  idiots 
as  to  pay  it.  And  yet  everyone  of  'em  was  well- 
off,  and  the  five  hundred  wa'n't  no  more  to  them 
than  a  nickel  was  to  me.  They'd  always  had  their 
own  way  afore,  that  was  it;  now  they  couldn't  have 
it  and  they  began  to  appreciate  what  they'd  lost. 

120 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

But  they  could  have  walked  out  of  that  sanitarium 
any  minute;  'twas  up  to  them.  They  didn't  walk, 
and  they'd  have  raised  hob  if  they'd  been  told  to  go 
afore  they  was  thinned  down.  Just  young-uns,  same 
as  I've  said. 

Applecart — Applegate,  I  mean;  sometimes  I 
called  him  one  name  and  sometimes  'tother — was 
a  big  man  in  stocks  and  corporations.  The  Con 
solidated  Porcelain  Brick  Company  was  his  pet;  he 
was  president  of  it.  The  Boston  and  New  York 
morning  papers  came  to  the  Right  Livers'  Rest 
and  he  always  cabbaged  the  financial  pages  and 
read  'em  through.  In  that  way  he  reminded  me  of 
the  Heavenly  Twins — Hartley  and  Van  Brunt — 
when  I  had  'em  on  Ozone  Island.  But  the  Heaven- 
lies  was  just  speculators;  old  Colonel  Applecart  was 
more'n  that;  he  was  what  they  call  a  magnet,  a 
financial  magnet,  and  his  own  name,  and  how  he 
was  getting  on  at  the  sanitarium,  was  in  those  papers 
pretty  frequently.  Once  in  a  while  reporters  would 
come  from  the  city  on  purpose  to  see  him  and  get 
his  views  on  the  market. 

I  wrote  to  Sophrony  and  had  her  send  my  dun 
nage  over  from  Wellmouth,  and  the  first  time  I 
had  an  errand  at  Wapatomac  I  went  in  and  saw 
Nate  Scudder  about  that  bill.  Nate  was  surpris 
ingly  decent  about  it,  for  him.  He  wouldn't  admit 

121 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

that  I'd  paid  cash  when  I  bought  the  stuff,  but  he 
did  say  that  he  didn't  want  to  be  unreasonable  nor 
nothing,  and — er — well,  him  and  me  would  talk  it 
over  some  more  and  he  didn't  doubt  but  we'd  come 
to  some  sort  of  settlement  agreeable  to  us  both.  He 
was  so  sweet  and  syrupy  that  I  couldn't  understand; 
there  was  a  darkey  in  the  kindling  pile  somewheres, 
knowing  Nate  as  I  did,  I  was  willing  to  bet  on  it, 
but  I  hadn't  located  him  yet. 

Just  as  I  was  leaving,  though,  I  began  to  get  on 
his  trail.  Scudder  came  as  fur  as  the  store  plat 
form  with  me. 

"You're  over  to  the  sanitarium  for  good  now, 
ain't  you,  Sol?"  says  he. 

"I  hope  it's  for  good,"  says  I;  "anyhow  I've 
taken  the  job  for  better  or  worse." 

"Yes,"  says  he.  "Well,  you  and  me  have  always 
been  pretty  good  friends,  you  know.  Friends  ought 
to  do  little  favors  for  one  another;  don't  you  think 
that's  a  good  Christian  spirit?" 

"I  think  it's  better  Christianity  than  trying  to  do 
one  another,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"That's  what  I  mean.  Yes,  yes;  sartin.  Well — 
er — I  don't  know  as  you  know  it,  but  when  that 
place  was  first  started  I  happened  to  be  passing  by 
and  I  dropped  in  to  see  if  I  couldn't  get  the  grocery 
orders.  That  Sparrow  girl — she's  about  as  sassy 

122 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

and  pert  as  they  make — she  put  in  her  oar  and  kind 
of  prejudiced  Miss  Adams  and  Doctor  Wool  again^v 
me,  seemed  so.  Anyhow,  I  ain't  got  any  orders  to 
speak  of.  Now  you're  there,  and,  you  and  me 
being  friends,  as  I  said,  why — why " 

"Why  what?" 

"Why,  it  runs  acrost  my  mind  that  maybe  we 
could  make  a  little  dicker  for  the  good  of  both  of 
us.  You  might  put  a  few  trades  in  my  way  and — 
er — well,  I  might  give  you — er — say,  a  little  com 
mission  on  'em,  and  we'd  take  the  commissions  off 
that  bill  you  owe.  Understand?  He,  he,  he  I  See, 
don't  you?" 

I  looked  at  him.  "Yes,"  says  I,  prompt.  "I  see 
first  rate.  It  was  a  little  foggy  for  a  spell,  but  now 
I  see  fine." 

He  acted  kind  of  doubtful.  "He,  he!"  he 
chuckled  again,  but  more  feeble.  "Well,  what  do 
you  think?" 

"Nate,"  said  I,  "do  you  know  the  motto  over  to 
the  Right  Livers'  Rest?  It's  Think  Right.'  " 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Everything.  I  think  that  bill  of  yours  was  paid 
long  ago,  and  I'm  right.  Good-bye." 

He  fairly  hopped  up  and  down. 

"You — you "  he  stuttered.     "Am  I  a  dum 

fool?" 

123 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"As  we  think,  we  are — some  of  us,"  says  I,  and 
walked  off. 

I  heard  afterwards  that  he  was  going  around 
threatening  to  have  me  took  up  for  what  he  called 
"deforming"  his  character.  What  little  character 
he  had  left  was  a  hopeless  cripple  long  afore  I  knew 
him,  so  I  didn't  worry  about  that. 

None  of  us  at  the  Rest  shop  heard  or  saw  Mc- 
Carty  again.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  and  Doctor 
Wool  had  a  final  session,  but,  if  so,  nobody  els^ 
was  present  at  the  exercises.  McCarty  and  his  do^ 
departed  our  life  and,  so  fur  as  I  could  learn,  there 
was  no  mourners.  For  a  spell  of  a  week  or  two 
we  got  along  without  any  physical  directors  except 
the  doctor  himself  and  what  little  I  could  do  to  help. 
Then  Eureka  told  me  what  Miss  Emeline  had  told 
her,  which  was  that  a  new  director  had  been  ad 
vertised  for  and  that  answers  were  coming  every 
mail. 

Meanwhile  I  settled  down,  doing  my  work — 
which  was  enough  to  keep  me  out  of  mischief,  land 
knows! — and  getting  more  and  more  broken  in  to 
Sea  Breeze  Bluff  and  the  queer  folks  there. 

"Mr.  Pratt,"  says  Eureka,  "you're  getting  real 
used  to  your  new  job,  ain't  you?" 

"Well,"  I  says,  "I  cal'late  a  body  could  get  used 
to  Tophet  if  he  stayed  there  long  enough." 

124 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

She  flared  up;  the  least  mite  of  a  slam  at  Doc 
tor  Wool  was  enough  to  set  her  going. 

"Humph  1"  she  snapped.  "Most  of  the  jobs 
there  are  permanent,  from  what  I  hear.  You'd  bet 
ter  learn  to  be  contented  where  you  are,  first.  'Twill 
be  good  practice  for  you,  if  nothing  more." 

I  laughed.  She  was  as  sharp  as  a  fish-knife,  that 
girl.  We  was  getting  better  friends  all  the  time. 


CHAPTER   VI 

EUREKA,"  says  I  one  morning,  "I  have  a 
notion  that  I've  got  track  of  the  love  story 
you  hinted  at  that  time." 

She  and  I  was  having  breakfast  together.  We 
ate  by  ourselves,  generally  speaking.  She  was  house 
keeper  and  sort  of  superior  to  Mrs.  Gunnison,  the 
cook,  and  Annabelle,  the  chambermaid;  at  any  rate 
she  figgered  that  she  was  and  kept  them  under  her 
thumb  pretty  constant.  They'd  had  their  breakfast 
and  were  out  of  the  kitchen.  Eureka  and  me  was 
alone. 

She  looked  up  from  her  fried  potatoes  and  cod 
fish  balls — the  help  wa'n't  enough  consequence  for 
"treatment,"  which  was  a  mercy,  the  way  I  looked 
at  it;  we  ate  what  we  wanted  to — she  looked  up,  as 
I  say,  and  says  she : 

"What  love  story?" 

"Miss  Emeline's,"  says  I.  "I  think  I  know  who 
she's  in  love  with." 

She  put  down  her  knife  and  fork. 

"You  do,  hey?"  she  says.     "Who  is  it?" 

"That  Quill  man;  the  Professor  one;  the  thin 
126 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

man  with  the  long  hair,  that  you're  so  sartin  is 
mixed  up  in  my  'fortune.'  ' 

She  acted  awful  surprised. 

"For  mercy  sakes,"  she  said,  "what  made  you 
think  that?" 

"Oh,  just  for  instance,  I  guess.  You  gave  me  to 
understand  there  was  somebody  she'd  been  in  love 
with,  and,  if  you'll  recollect,  that  morning  when 
they  first  met  out  there  in  the  sand  bath  graveyard, 
they  was  astonished  enough  to  see  each  other.  As 
tonished  and  glad,  too.  And  ever  since  then  they've 
been  thick  as  can  be,  setting  on  the  piazza  together, 
and  walking  together,  and  being  buried  alive  right 
alongside  of  each  other,  and " 

"Rubbish!"  she  interrupted;  "that's  nothing." 

"Maybe  'tain't,  but  it  looks  as  if  'twas  going  to 
be  something.  You've  noticed  it  yourself,  you  know 
you  have." 

"I've  noticed  they  was  friendly  and  sociable,  but 
that's  to  be  expected.  She  used  to  know  the  Pro 
fessor  in  Brockton.  He  was  a  reg'lar  caller  at  our 
house  there.  You  see,  Mr.  Quill  taught  at  the 
Edgewater  Academy;  he  was  one  of  the  faculty." 

"Yes,  and  now  he's  got  a  faculty  of  being  right 
around  where  she  is.  Oh,  I'm  an  old  bach,  Eu 
reka,  but  I've  got  eyes." 

"You  ought  to  have  'em  seen  to,  then.  There's 
127 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

something  wrong  with  your  sight  if  you  think  there's 
anything  more'n  friendship  between  Miss  Emeline 
and  the  Professor.  There  ain't,  and  I  know  it." 

"But,  Eureka,  look  here.  They're  just  made  for 
each  other,  them  two.  He's  old-familied  and  quiet 
and  moony  and  respectable,  just  the  same  as  she  is. 
And  they  talk  just  the  same  kind  of  stuff — as  if 
they'd  swallowed  dictionaries  instead  of  prunes. 
And,  more'n  that,  they " 

"Nonsense!  It  ain't  so,  I  tell  you.  Miss  Eme- 
line's  love  story  hasn't  got  a  thing  to  do  with  Pro 
fessor  Quill.  I  tell  you,  I  know  it  ain't." 

She  spoke  as  if  she  did  know,  that  was  a  fact. 
I  begun  to  cast  around  for  other  possibilities. 

"Who  has  it  got  to  do  with,  then?"  says  I.  "Doc 
tor  Wool?" 

She  kind  of  started  and  looked  at  me  sharp. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  just  for  instance,  maybe." 

"You  ain't  seen  anything  to  make  you  think  the 
Doctor  is  in  love  with  her,  have  you?" 

I  laughed.  "Not  exactly,"  says  I.  "Fact  is,  I've 
always  cal'lated  the  Doc  to  be  too  much  in  love  with 
himself  to  waste  much  affection  on  anybody  else." 

I  expected  she'd  flare  up,  but  she  didn't.  Instead 
she  kept  looking  at  me  hard. 

"Then  what  made  you  mention  him?"  she  says. 
128 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Why,  nothing  'special.  Only  I've  noticed  he 
keeps  an  eye  on  her  pretty  constant.  And,  as  for 
her,  she  just  worships  the  ground  he  treads  on. 
That's  plain  enough  for  anybody  to  see." 

"Rubbish  1  Is  that  all?  Course  she  thinks  an 
awful  lot  of  the  Doctor,  and  respects  him  and — 
and  all  that.  Course  she  does !  So  do  the  rest  of 
us,  fur's  that  goes.  But  she  ain't  in  love  with  him. 
He  ain't  the  one — no,  sir-ee!" 

"Then  who  is?" 

Afore  she  could  answer  Miss  Emeline  herself 
came  into  the  kitchen.  She  was  dressed  to  go  out, 
and,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me,  there  was  a  kind  of 
troubled  look  on  her  face.  I  cal'late  Eureka  no 
ticed  it,  too,  for  she  says: 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Emeline?    Is  anything  wrong?" 

Miss  Emeline  answered  quick  and  uneasy. 

"No,  no,"  she  said.  "I  am  going  for  a  walk 
and  I  wished  to  tell  you  so  in  case  there  was  any 
thing  you  cared  to  consult  me  about.  Is  there?" 

"No,  ma'am.  No.  But — but  are  you  sure  you're 
feeling  all  right?  You  look  sort  of  peaked  and " 

"I — I  did  not  sleep  well,  that  is  all.  I  shall  re 
turn  in  one  hour." 

She  left  the  room.  Eureka  stared  after  her,  kind 
of  worried  like.  All  at  once  she  slapped  her  hands 
together  and  swung  around  to  me. 

129 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Mr.  Pratt,"  she  sung  out,  "what  day  is  this?" 

"Friday,"  says  I. 

"No,  no,  the  day  of  the  month." 

"Eighth." 

She  clapped  her  hands  together  again. 

"I  knew  it!"  she  says.  "She's  been  dreaming 
about  him  again.  She  'most  always  dreams  about 
him  on  the  eighth  or  seventh  or  ninth  or  so.  'Twas 
the  eighth  it  happened  on.  Poor  thing!  no  won 
der  she  looks  peaked.  I  declare,  you'd  think  eigh 
teen  years  was  enough  to  make  anybody  forget,  but 
not  her.  And  the  way  them  dreams  keep  coming 
is  enough  to  frighten  anybody.  I  wonder  if  he  will 
come  back!  If  he  should!  My  soul!  if  he  should. 
Why,  'twould  be  just  like  a  story  in  the  Comfort- 
err 

I  shook  my  head.  "Eureka,"  says  I,  "your  talk 
is  awful  interesting — to  yourself,  maybe.  It's  a 
little  mite  foggy  to  outsiders,  though.  Why  does 
she  dream  about  him  on  the  eighth  or  tenth,  or 
whatever  'tis?  And  what's  he  and  she  got  to  do 
with  eighteen  years  and  the  Home  Comforter?  And 
who  is  he,  anyhow?" 

For  just  a  second  she  hesitated.  Then  she  come 
over  alongside  of  me  and  bent  down  to  my  ear. 

"You  promise  not  to  tell  anybody?"  she  whis 
pered.  "Not  a  living  soul?" 

130 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Not  one,  living  or  dead." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you.  She's  been  dreaming 
about  Lot  Deacon.  There!" 

She  give  this  out  as  though  it  settled  everything. 
It  didn't  settle  me,  though;  I  was  more  riled  than 
ever. 

"Sho!"saysl.  "You  don't  say !  That's  the  most 
paralyzing  notion  ever  I  heard  of.  There's  only 
one  or  two  p'ints  that  ain't  clear.  Who  in  the  name 
of  goodness  is  Lot  Deacon,  and  where  does  he  live 
when  he's  to  home?" 

I  was  a  little  mite  sarcastic,  but  she  was  too  ex 
cited  to  notice.  She  straightened  up  and  then  bent 
down  again. 

"He  is  her  young  man,"  she  says.  "The  one 
she's  engaged  to.  There!  that  surprises  you,  any 
how!" 

It  did.     I  set  up  in  my  chair. 

"Her  young  man!"  I  sung  out.  "Her  young 
man !  And  she's  engaged  to  him !  Why — why — 
where?" 

"Eighteen  years  ago,  in  New  Bedford.  They 
was  keeping  company — engaged,  you  know.  Then 
they  had  some  foolish  squabble  or  other — something 
she  wanted  for  the  new  house  they  was  going  to 
live  in  when  they  was  married.  She  thought  he 
ought  to  buy  it,  and  he  said  he  couldn't  afford  it. 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Anyhow,  they  quarreled  and  he  went  off  and  left 
her.  Next  day,  she  had  to  go  to  Boston  and  stay 
for  a  fortni't.  When  she  come  back  she  found  he'd 
skipped  aboard  a  whaler.  He'd  left  her  a  note 
saying  he  was  going  to  make  his  fortune.  When 
he  made  it  he'd  come  back.  He  loved  her  much 
as  ever  and  if  she  cared  for  him  she'd  wait.  And — 
and  she's  been  waiting  ever  since." 

"Eighteen  years?"  says  I. 

"Yes." 

"Heaven  and  airth!  That  was  some  v'yage  he 
went  on,  wa'n't  it!" 

"Oh,  he  hasn't  been  whaling  all  this  time.  The 
ship  was  wrecked  and  the  crew  separated.  Lot's 
part  drifted  around  in  a  boat  and  was  picked  up 
by  a  bark  bound  to  Rio  Janeiro.  He  landed  there, 
so  much  we  know.  And  he  ain't  been  heard  of 
since." 

"Tut!  tut!  tut!  Well,  I  snum!  Is  this  the 
love  story  you've  been  hinting  about  all  this 
time?" 

"Yes.    Ain't  it  wonderful?" 

"It  sartin  is.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Miss 
Emeline  has  been  setting  back  waiting  all  this  time 
for  a  feller  that  cleared  out  aboard  a  whaler  eigh 
teen  years  ago?" 

"Yes." 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Humph!  Ten  chances  to  one  he's  dead  and 
buried." 

"She  don't  think  so.  Over  and  over  again  she's 
told  me  that  she's  got  a  presentiment  that  he's  alive 
and  will  come  back  to  her  some  day.  She  was  a 
poor  girl  when  he  went  away;  now  she's  well  off, 
but  that  don't  make  any  difference.  In  his  letter 
he  begged  her  to  be  true  to  him  and  she's  done 
it." 

"You  don't  say!  Well,  does  she  think — provid 
ing  he  is  living — that  he's  been  true  to  her?" 

"Of  course !  He  said  in  his  letter  that  he  would 
be.  What  are  you  grinning  like  that  for?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  Only  I've  run  afoul  of  consider- 
'ble  many  whalers  in  my  time  and  they.  .  .  . 
Humph !  Well,  I  must  say  I  admire  Miss  Emeline's 
faith,  that's  all." 

"Ain't  you  ashamed!  I  should  think  you'd  be,  to 
talk  so.  Why  shouldn't  he  be  true  to  her?  I  tell 
you  she's  been  true  to  him." 

"Ye-es,  but  maybe  he's  had  more  chances  in 
South  America  than  she  has  in  Brockton  and  Bos 
ton.  Land  sakes,  Eureka,  be  sensible!  If  this  Lot 
man  ain't  dead,  which  is  the  most  likely  thing,  he's 
practically  sartin  to  be  married  long  ago.  He'll 
never  show  up,  mark  my  words." 

"Why  not?    And  if  he's  dead,  or  married,  why 

133 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

should  she  keep  dreaming  of  him?     Answer  me 
that." 

"Well,  I  should  say  the  answer  was  that  he  was 
the  only  one  she's  had  so  fur  to  dream  about.  I 
should  want  a  signed  contract  from  him  that  his 
dreams  was  confined  to  New  Bedford,  afore  I  bet 
high  on  his  coming  back  to  her.  Sailors  are  sailors 
and  eighteen  years  is  a  long  time." 

She  was  so  mad  she  wouldn't  speak  to  me  for 
quite  a  spell,  but  at  last  I  coaxed  her  into  going 
up  to  Miss  Emeline's  room  and  fetching  down  a 
tintype  of  the  missing  Deacon  man.  Eureka  said 
that  Miss  Emeline  kept  it  on  her  bureau  and 
wouldn't  part  with  it  for  no  money.  If  it  had  been 
mine  I'd  have  sold  it  cheap.  The  long-lost  wouldn't 
ever  been  hung  for  his  beauty.  He  was  wholesome 
and  pleasant  looking  enough,  but  his  clothes  was 
old-fashioned  and  queer,  of  course,  and  his  hair, 
which  was  thick  and  black,  was  plastered  down  in 
a  couple  of  curls  on  his  forehead.  Likewise  he  was 
slim,  not  to  say  skinny. 

"Don't  wonder  the  old  lady  is  unhappy  after  she 
dreams  of  him,"  says  I.  "Look  at  that  hair!  for 
all  the  world  like  a  barber's  on  Sunday!" 

"  'Twas  the  fashion  then,"  snaps  Eureka.  "And 
Miss  Emeline's  always  talking  about  his  lovely  curls. 
See  the  writing  on  the  back." 

134 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  turned  the  picture  over  and  there,  wrote  in 
faded  ink,  was  "Emeline,  from  Lot.  May  6th, 
1 8 ." 

"Just  two  days  afore  he  went  away,"  says  Eu 
reka.  "Think  of  it!  It's  the  most  romantic  thing 
ever  I  heard  of  in  my  life.  Oh,  I  wish  he'd  come 
back.  Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I  could  see  him; 
thin,  and  dressed  poor,  you  know,  but  with  the  love- 
light  shining  in  his  eyes.  Oh,  I  wish  he'd  come!" 

"Humph!"  says  I.  "He  may  wear  specs  by  this 
time.  Well,  if  I  was  he,  I'd  hurry  up  and  come. 
There's  too  much  Quill  and  Wool  around  here  to 
keep  love-lights  burning  for  whalers.  He'd  better 
hustle  or  'twill  be  too  late." 

When  I  got  by  myself  I  laughed  over  the  whole 
business.  Of  course  'twas  plain  enough  why  Miss 
Emeline  was  possessed  with  the  idea  of  her  Deacon 
feller's  coming  back  to  her,  and  why  she  dreamed 
about  him,  and  all.  He  was  the  one  real,  genuine 
big  happening  in  her  precise,  prim  little  life  and  she 
just  wouldn't  give  him  up.  Besides,  she  was  a  fe 
male  and,  in  spite  of  her  primness,  had  consider'ble 
of  Eureka's  hankering  for  the  story  book  kind  of 
thing,  the  romantic  thing,  the  tender,  sweet,  sad, 
mushy  thing.  As  I  say,  I  laughed  when  I  got  by 
myself,  but  I  didn't  mention  the  subject  again.  What 
was  the  use?  If  she  and  Eureka  got  comfort  out 

135 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

of  their  pet  fairy  tale,  why  should  I  spile  their  fun 
by  telling  'em  how  ridiculous  it  was. 

Besides,  I  had  other  things  to  think  about.  Doc 
tor  Wool  and  me  had  some  words  about  the  "physi 
cal  directing"  business.  Of  course  most  of  the 
words  come  from  him;  that  was  to  be  expected. 
And  they  were  sweet  and  buttery  and  uplifting  as 
usual.  Every  time  I  had  a  talk  with  that  doctor 
man  I  felt  as  if  I  was  in  church  and  that  the  only 
things  lacking  was  a  hymn  tune  and  a  collection. 
He  preached  the  sermon,  of  course,  but  I  did  man 
age  to  speak  up  enough  to  do  a  little  testifying.  I 
said  I  simply  couldn't  keep  up  the  physical  directing. 
For  one  reason  I  didn't  know  nothing  about  the  job, 
and,  for  another,  I  was  too  busy  with  my  regular 
work  to  attend  to  anything  else  if  I  had  known.  He 
must  get  somebody  in  McCarty's  place  and  get  'cm 
right  away,  I  told  him. 

"Otherwise,"  says  I,  "you'll  have  a  new  sufferer 
on  your  hands,  and  his  name'll  be  Sol  Pratt." 

He  bowed  and  smiled,  serene  and  condescend 
ing. 

"I  trust  not,"  says  he;  "I  trust  not  that — no.  I 
sympathize  with  you,  my  dear  Pratt,  I  assure  you. 
But  patience — patience,  and  in  a  very  little  while  we 
shall  overcome  this  trifling  difficulty.  As  you  know, 
I  am  advertising  for  a  physical  director." 

136 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

He  had  been,  of  course,  but  so  far  the  ads  hadn't 
dredged  up  nothing  worth  having.  There'd  been 
answers  sartin,  but  only  one  of  'em  had  been  prom 
ising  enough  for  him  to  ask  the  candidate  to  come 
down  for  inspection.  Then  it  turned  out  that  this 
one,  who'd  wrote  large  and  lengthy  about  his  "ex 
perience"  and  fitness  for  the  job,  had  been  trainer 
for  prize  fighters  and  was  an  "ex"  one  himself. 
One  look  at  him  was  enough,  and,  if  more  was 
needed,  his  remarks  when  he  run  afoul  of  the 
clothes  line  was  plenty  and  to  spare.  You  see,  he 
come  down  on  the  night  train  and  walked  over  from 
the  village  in  the  dark.  'Twas  a  Monday  and  the 
line  was  stretched  acrost  the  back  yard.  He  didn't 
know  it  was  there  until  it  reminded  him  by  catching 
him  under  the  chin.  'Twas  awful  still,  without  a 
breath  of  wind,  and  what  he  said  would  have  car 
ried  half  a  mile  even  if  there'd  been  a  gale  blowing. 
Most  of  the  Right  Livers  was  setting  on  the  front 
piazza  when  the  exercises  commenced,  but  nobody 
but  Colonel  Applegate  and  a  few  more  of  the  male 
patients  was  there  when  they  finished.  The  Colonel 
said  afterward  that  them  few  remarks  did  him  more 
good  than  anything  he'd  heard  since  he  struck  the 
sanitarium;  they  expressed  his  own  feelings  almost 
as  well  as  he  could  have  done  it  himself.  But  the 
applause  was  limited  to  him  and  his  chums,  and  the 

137 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

new  hand  was  shipped  back  to  Boston  in  the  morn 
ing. 

Well,  I  reminded  the  doctor  of  this,  but  he  just 
kept  on  smiling  and  purring  and  waving  his  hands 
till  he  got  me  mesmerized,  as  usual,  and  I  left  that 
office  feeling  that  everything  was  all  settled. 
'Twa'n't  till  I  got  alone  by  myself  that  I  realized  I 
was  just  where  I  started  and  that  nothing  was  set 
tled  at  all. 

That  evening,  after  the  Right  Livers  had  turned 
in,  I  went  for  a  walk,  not  that  I  needed  exercise,  but 
because  I  wanted  to  be  clear  of  that  Wool  shop  for 
a  little  while,  anyhow.  It  had  rained  all  day,  but 
now  it  had  cleared  off,  and  I  tramped  and  smoked 
for  quite  a  spell.  When  I  got  back  to  the  sani 
tarium  'twas  after  ten  o'clock.  The  house  was  all 
dark  except  for  a  light  in  the  kitchen.  I  judged 
that  Eureka  was  setting  up  reading  some  of  her 
Home  Comforter  yarns,  such  being  her  custom. 

But  when  I  stepped  up  on  the  back  porch  I  heard 
voices  inside.  One  of  'em  was  Eureka's,  all  right 
enough,  but  'tother  was  a  man's  voice.  I  wondered 
if  she'd  got  a  beau  and  had  never  told  me  about 
him.  In  one  way  'twouldn't  have  been  surprising, 
for  she'd  grown  to  be  such  a  nice-looking  young 
woman;  but,  in  another,  'twould  have  been  surpris 
ing  enough,  for  she  and  me  were  mighty  chummy, 

138 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

and,  if  she'd  had  a  steady  company,  I  did  thin£ 
she'd  mention  him  to  me. 

However,  I  cleared  my  throat  loud,  so's  to  give 
'em  warning,  and  started  to  open  the  door.  But  I 
hadn't  no  more  than  got  it  half  open  when  I  heard 
Eureka  sing  out  and  come  running  to  meet  me.  Her 
eyes  were  shining,  and  she  was  as  bubbling  over 
with  excitement  as  she'd  been  that  night  when  I  told 
her  about  my  "fortune." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pratt!"  says  she,  clapping  her  hands 
together;  "oh,  Mr.  Pratt!  what  do  you  s'pose  has 
happened  now?" 

"Land  knows!"  says  I.   "House  got  afire,  has  it?" 

"No,  no!  Of  course  not!  Do  you  think  I'd  be 
setting  here  if  it  had?  But  something  has  hap 
pened,  something  wonderful!  Guess  what  it  is! 
Guess  the  most  wonderful  thing  you  can  think  of." 

I  wa'n't  so  terrible  upset.  Eureka  was  always 
seeing  wonders  where  nobody  else  could,  and  I  didn't 
take  a  great  deal  of  stock  in  this  one. 

"Humph!"  says  I.  "Want  me  to  guess,  hey? 
Well,  let's  see.  I  guess  Doctor  Lysander  has  given 
somebody  back  their  five  hundred.  That  would  be 
about  as  wonderful  as  anything  I  can  think  of  off 
hand." 

I  said  it  to  tease  her,  but  she  was  too  excited  even 
to  notice  a  slap  at  Lysander  the  Great. 

139 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"No,  no!"  she  says.  "Don't  be  foolish.  Some 
body's  come;  come  here  to-night.  Somebody  you 
nor  I  never  expected  to  see.  Guess  who  'tis." 

I  tried  to  think.    Then  a  crazy  notion  got  hold  of, 
me.     "Good  land!"  I  sung  out  all  at  once.     "You' 
don't  mean — Eureka  Sparrow;  you  don't  mean  that 
long-lost  feller  of  Miss  Emeline's  has  turned  up? 
You  don't  mean  that?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  says,  kind  of 
regretful.  "It's  wonderful,  but  it  ain't  so  wonder 
ful  as  all  that.  It's  somebody  you  used  to  know, 
and  so  did  I.  But  there!  you  come  right  into  the 
kitchen  and  see  for  yourself.  I  guess  you'll  be  some 
surprised!" 

So  into  the  kitchen  we  both  went.  Alongside  the 
table  was  sitting  a  tall,  straight-up-and-down  feller, 
who  got  up  as  I  came  in.  I  blinked  at  him,  for  I'd 
been  in  the  dark  and  the  lamplight  sort  of  dazzled 
me,  and  he  stood  looking  at  me.  Then  he  put  out 
his  hand. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Pratt,  sir,"  says  he.  "Very 
'appy  to  see  you  again,  sir,  I'm  sure." 

For  a  second  longer  I  stood  blinking  and  staring. 
The  voice  was  one  I  remembered,  sartin;  but 
who 

"I  'ave  no  doubt  you  don't  remember  me,  sir," 
he  says.  "I  'ave  changed  a  bit,  sir,  owing  to  'ard 

14.0 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

luck  which  I've  'ad  recent  But  I  should  'ave  known 
you  anywhere.  When  Eureka  told  me  you  were 
'ere  I  was  astonished.  'My  word!'  I  said,  'I 

That  was  enough.  The  "my  word"  settled  it.  I 
stepped  forward  and  looked  him  straight  in  the 
face. 

"Well,  I  swan  to  man!"  I  gasped.  "It's  Lord 
James  Hopper,  by  all  that's  miraculous !  I  swan 
to  man!  Hopper,  how  are  you?" 

And  Eureka  clapped  her  hands  together  and 
danced  around  the  pair  of  us. 

"I  told  you  you'd  be  surprised,"  she  cried.  "I 
told  you!" 

I  hadn't  seen  him  since  the  Ozone  Island  days. 
He'd  been  Van  Brunt's  valet  then,  and  was  mixed 
up  in  all  the  Natural  Life  ridiculousness.  I  remem 
bered  him  as  tall  and  thin  and  dreadful  neat  and 
precise  and  dignified.  He  was  tall  and  thin  enough 
now,  land  knows;  but  the  neatness  and  dignity  had 
kind  of  gone  to  seed,  seemed  so.  He  wore  the  same 
prim  little  mutton-chop  whiskers  half  mast  on  his 
cheeks,  but  there  was  a  little  gray  in  amongst  the 
red  of  'em,  and  the  rest  of  his  face  had  a  two  days' 
growth  of  beard  on  it.  When  I'd  known  him  afore, 
his  clothes  always  looked  as  if  they'd  just  come  out 
of  the  spare-room  bureau  drawer;  now  they  was 
wrinkled  and  all  splashed  with  mud;  as  for  his  shoes, 

141 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

they  wa'n't  nothing  but  mud.  Take  him  by  and 
large,  he  sartin  did  look  as  if  he'd  had  a  rough 
v'yage.  Him  and  I  shook  hands,  and  then  he  went 
back  and  set  down  by  the  table,  where  he'd  been 
when  I  come  in.  There  was  bread  and  butter  and 
cookies  on  the  table  and  a  bottle  and  glass. 

"I  told  you  you'd  be  surprised,  Mr.  Pratt," 
crowed  Eureka  again.  "You  are  surprised,  ain't 
you?" 

"Surprised!"  I  says;  "surprised!  Well,  I  guess 
you  might  call  it  as  much  as  a  surprise  without  strain 
ing  the  truth.  Wonders'll  never  cease,  will  they! 
Hopper,  where  in  the  world  did  you  drop  from?" 

His  mouth  was  full  of  bread  and  butter,  and  he 
couldn't  talk  through  the  cargo,  but  he  managed  to 
groan.  'Twas  a  doleful  groan,  too.  I  looked  at 
Eureka. 

"Come,  Eureka,"  says  I,  "you  say  something. 
What's  he  doing  here?  And  where  did  he  come 
from?  Tell  a  body,  can't  you?" 

She  nodded.  "You  set  down,  Mr.  Pratt,"  says 
she.  "Set  down  and  I'll  tell  you.  Keep  right  on 
eating,  Mr.  Hopper,"  she  says  to  him.  "I  know 
you're  hungry,  poor  soul.  And  take  a  little  more 
of  that  cherry  bounce;  'twill  do  you  good  and  keep 
you  from  getting  cold.  Just  think,  Mr.  Pratt!  he's 
walked  miles  and  miles  through  the  rain  and  all, 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

and  he  ain't  had  a  bite  to  eat  since  yesterday.  Think 
of  it!" 

I  thought.  I  cal'late  Hopper  thought,  too,  for 
he  groaned  again  and  poured  himself  out  another 
glass  of  the  "bounce."  'Twas  some  that  Olivia  Gun- 
nison,  the  cook,  had  fetched  over  from  her  brother's 
at  South  Ostable,  for  "emergencies,"  she  said;  I 
judged  Lord  James — that's  what  we  always  used 
to  call  him  on  account  of  his  high  and  mighty  ways 
and  his  Englishness — figgered  that  he  was  an  emer 
gency. 

"Just  think!"  went  on  Eureka,  when  I'd  come  to 
anchor  in  a  chair.  "I  can  hardly  believe  he's  here. 
But  he  is!  He  is!  You  can  see  him  yourself." 

I  could,  and  he  could  see  the  food  and  the  bounce 
bottle,  especially  the  bottle.  He  never  let  go  of  it 
for  a  minute.  Eureka's  tongue  kept  on  running  full 
speed  ahead. 

Seemed  that  His  Lordship  had  dropped  in  on 
her  unexpected,  after  all  hands  but  she  and  me  had 
turned  in.  He  was  weak  and  tired  and  faint  from 
hunger  and  wet  and  thirst;  she  didn't  mention  the 
thirst,  but  'twa'n't  necessary.  He'd  started  from 
Boston  the  day  afore,  but  his  money  give  out,  or 
he'd  lost  it  or  something — his  yarn  was  pretty  foggy 
right  here — but,  anyhow,  he'd  got  off  the  train  at 
Tremont  and  walked  the  rest  of  the  way.  She'd 

143 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

pumped  him  pretty  hard  and  had  found  out  already 
that  he  hadn't  worked  for  the  Van  Brunts  for  ever 
so  long,  had  had  a  good  many  jobs  since,  but  none 
'of  'em  real  satisfying.  One  of  the  last  he'd  had  was 
at  what  he  called  a  "country  club." 

"And  what,"  goes  on  Eureka,  "what  do  you  sup 
pose  fetched  him  down  here  to  Wapatomac?" 

I  was  filling  my  pipe,  and  now  I  reached  under 
hatches  for  a  match. 

"What  do  you  suppose  fetched  him  here?"  says 
Eureka,  getting  impatient. 

"Well,"  says  I,  lighting  up,  "I  judge  'twas  his 
feet.  You  say  he  walked  from  Tremont." 

She  bounced  on  her  chair.  "If  that's  a  joke,"  she 
snaps,  "it's  a  pretty  mean  one.  Of  course  his  feet 
fetched  him,  poor  thing!  But  what  started  'em 
heading  for  here?" 

"Don't  know." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  He  saw  Doctor  Wool's  ad- 
vertisement  for  a  physical  director,  and  he's  come 
to  apply  for  the  place." 

I  guess  likely  she  expected  me  to  act  astonished 
when  she  said  this;  if  that's  so,  I  cal'late  I  lived  up 
to  her  expectations. 

"Physical  director!  Him?"  I  sung  out.  "Go 
'long!  How  you  talk!" 

But  she  was  talking  serious.  She  meant  it.  And, 
144 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

it  turned  out,  so  did  he.  He'd  had  considerable  ex 
perience  in  the  gymnasium  of  that  country  club; 
'twas  a  sort  of  young  sanitarium,  that  club  was,  and 
he'd  handled  a  good  many  critters  like  some  of  our 
Right  Livers.  Between  bread  and  butter  attacks 
and  bounce  relapses,  he  spun  some  yarns  about  his 
experiences  that  made  me  believe  his  applying  for 
McCarty's  job  might  not  be  such  a  joke  as  it  seemed. 
I  was  willing  to  believe  it;  I  wanted  somebody  to 
take  the  job  off  my  hands,  and  if  he  would  do  it  so 
much  the  better.  Besides,  knowing  what  he  used 
to  be,  and  seeing  what  he  was  now,  I  couldn't  help 
feeling  sorry  for  him.  He  looked  like  a  family 
cat  that  had  been  locked  out  in  a  snowstorm  all 
night. 

"You'll  help  him  get  the  place,  won't  you,  Mr. 
Pratt?"  asks  Eureka. 

"Ye-es,"  says  I,  kind  of  doubtful.  "I'll  be  glad 
to  help  him  get  a  trial  at  it.  But  what  on  earth, 
Hopper,  has  brought  you  down  so  that  you  have  to 
hoof  it  thirty  miles  to  get  work.  You  ?  Good  land ! 
what  are  you  doing;  crying?" 

If  he  wa'n't,  I'd  never  see  anybody  do  it,  that's 
all.  He  had  one  hand  on  the  bounce  bottle — he'd 
never  let  go  of  that  since  he  got  back  to  the  table — 
but  he  had  a  handkerchief  in  the  other  and  was 
swabbing  his  deadlights  with  it.  I'd  never  Had  any- 

145 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

thing  set  me  back  more;  I  felt  like  a  man  that  had 
robbed  an  orphan  asylum.  To  think  that  I'd  been 
poking  fun  at  a  poor  critter  so  wore  out  by  his  trou 
bles  that  he  cried! 

"There!  there!"  says  I;  "don't  do  that.  It's  all 
right  now.  I'll  do  my  best  to  help  you  with  the 
Doctor.  It's  all  right,  I  tell  you.  Stop  it!  What 
is  the  matter?" 

He  wouldn't  stop,  but  kept  on  swabbing  and  talk 
ing. 

"Don't  mind  me,  sir,"  he  says.  "Don't  mind  me. 
It's — it's  the  thoughts  of — of  what  I've  lost  that — 
that " 

"Lost!"  says  I.  "Oh,  you  mean  your  money. 
Never  mind  that.  You're  amongst  friends  now 
and " 

"My  wife,"  he  sniffs.     "My — my  poor  wife!" 

Here  was  news,  bran'  new  news.  Eureka  and  I 
stared  at  each  other.  She  spoke  first. 

"Your  wife!"  she  says.  "Why,  we  didn't  know 
you  was  married!" 

He  didn't  seem  to  pay  much  attention. 

"My  wife,"  says  he.  "My  poor  wife!  Wife  of 
my  bosom.  She's  a  'ummer.  Saving  your  presence, 
ma'am,  she's  a  'ummer." 

"A  which!    Eureka,  what's  a  'ummer?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  means  a  hummer,  I  guess, 
146 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

but  what — Mr.  Hopper,  don't  take  on  so !     What 


"A  'ummer,"  says  Lord  James  again.  "She — 
she's  a  'ummer,  my  wife  is." 

"Is!  I  thought  you  said  you'd  lost  her.  Is  she 
alive?" 

He  kind  of  perked  up  and  looked  at  us  over  the 
handkerchief. 

"I  don't  know,"  says  he.  "I  don't  know.  'Er 
name's  Christina" — he  pronounced  it  "Chrishtina," 
— "and  she's  a  Swede.  I  married  'er  at — at  a  place 
in  Philadelphia  where  we  both  was  in  service.  She's 
a  Swede,  and  'er  English  is — is  a  bit  off,  but  she's 
all  right;  she's  a  'ummer.  That's  what  I  say,  a 
'ummer.  Oh,"  says  he,  acting  kind  of  queer  and 
vacant-like,  "oh,  'ow  'eavenly  'appy  we  was!  When 
I  think  of  it— I— I " 

He  was  going  to  cry  again;  I  could  see  it  com 
ing,  and  so  could  Eureka. 

She  hove  out  a  life  preserver,  as  you  might 
say. 

"But  where  is  she  now?"  she  wanted  to  know, 
quick. 

"Eh?  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know.  Lost! 
That's  all  I  know.  Lost.  We  come  to  Boston — I 
mean  New  York — together.  Left  'er  at  the  rail 
way  station — went  to  get  a  drink — of  water.  Come 

147 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

back — she  was  gone.  Wife  gonel  Everything 
gone.  What's  the  use?  What's  the  use?" 

He  collapsed  into  the  handkerchief  again.  Eu 
reka  was  ready  to  cry  herself.  Maybe  I'd  have 
been,  too,  only  for  one  thing.  I  reached  over  when 
he  wa'n't  looking,  got  a  clove  hitch  on  that  bounce 
bottle  and  put  it  under  my  chair,  out  of  the  way. 

Eureka  was  all  upset.  "The  poor  man!  the  poor 
man!"  she  says.  "Just  think  what  he's  been 
through!  What  will  we  do?" 

"Well,"  says  I,  whispering,  "I  guess  likely  the 
first  thing  is  to  get  him  up  to  bed." 

She  looked  over  at  him.  He  appeared  to  be 
asleep,  or  next  door  to  it. 

"Yes,"  says  she,  "I  wouldn't  wonder  if  you  was 
right.  He  needs  rest." 

"He  does,"  says  I,  "bad.  Come  on,  Hopper. 
Let's  go  aloft  and  turn  in.  You  can  have  the  room 
next  to  me  for  to-night.  Come  on!  Tumble 
up!" 

He  obeyed  orders,  obeyed  'em  too  well,  'cording 
to  my  way  of  thinking;  he  tumbled  most  of  the  way 
upstairs.  But  when  he  got  there  he  was  all  right 
enough  and  seemed  anxious  to  get  to  bed.  I  lent 
him  one  of  my  nightshirts — he  didn't  have  any  of 
his  own  along — and  when  I  left  him  he  was  sleep 
ing  like  a  lamb.  I  went  down  again  to  the  kitchen. 

148 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Eureka  was  waiting  for  me,  all  lit  up  with  excite 
ment. 

"Oh!"  says  she.  "Did  you  ever  in  your  born 
days!  Think  of  him  wandering  around  under  all 
that  burden  of  sorrow.  Ain't  it  splendid  he  come 
here,  where  his  friends  are !" 

I  didn't  say  nothing;  I  was  thinking  hard. 

"I'm  sure  he'll  make  a  fine  director,"  says  she. 
"And  now  I've  got  another  job  on  my  hands." 

"On  your  hands?"  says  I,  surprised.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

"I  mean  I'm  going  to  locate  that  lost  wife  of  his, 
that's  what  I  mean.  Oh,  I  do  think  this  sanitarium 
is  the  most  romantic  place  in  the  world.  There's 
two  romances  here  already — Miss  Emeline's  and 
his.  And  your  fortune,  Mr.  Pratt;  that's  another. 
I'm  so  glad  I'm  mixed  up  in  'em,  ain't  you?" 

I  wa'n't  bubbling  over  with  joy.  There  was  alto 
gether  too  much  "mix"  to  suit  a  steady-going  sea 
faring  man  like  me.  I  went  to  bed  myself,  but  afore 
I  went  I  hid  that  bounce  bottle  where  no  more  be 
reaved  husbands  could  get  at  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

I  DIDN'T  sleep  much  that  night.  I  put  in  most 
of  it  listening  for  sounds  from  the  next  room. 
But  there  wa'n't  any.  Lord  James  slept 
peaceful  as  could  be,  in  spite  of  his  sorrows.  In 
the  morning  he  called  to  me  and  asked  for  the  loan 
of  my  razor.  Then  he  wanted  to  know  if  Eureka 
wouldn't  send  him  up  a  hot  flatiron  and  the  shoe 
brush. 

When  he  came  downstairs  I  wouldn't  scarcely 
have  known  him,  he'd  changed  so  since  the  night 
afore.  He  was  shaved,  his  clothes  was  cleaned  and 
pressed,  and  his  boots  was  shined.  I  declare!  he 
was  the  old  Lord  James  back  again,  just  as  he  used 
to  be. 

And  his  dignity  was  back,  too.  He  ate  an  aston 
ishing  amount  of  breakfast,  considering;  and  his 
talk  was  as  smooth  and  high  and  mighty  as  it  was 
in  the  "Natural  Life"  days.  Olivia  Gunnison  and 
Annabelle  was  ever  so  took  with  him;  they  thought 
— or  so  Annabelle  said — that  he  was  a  "perfect 
gentleman."  There  was  only  one  thing  he  wouldn't 
talk  about,  that  was  his  wife,  the  one  he'd  lost,  or 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

had  lost  him.  Eureka  happened  to  throw  out  a  hint 
about  her  and  he  shut  up  like  a  clam.  And  every 
time  she  mentioned  the  subject  he  changed  it.  No, 
'twas  plain  he  didn't  care  to  speak  of  the  "  'ummer"; 
seemed  to  be  sorry  he'd  spoke  of  her  in  the  first 
place. 

Eureka  said  she  guessed  he  thought  his  heart 
story — that  was  what  she  called  it,  his  "heart  story" 
— was  too  sacred  a  thing  to  be  gossiped  about  by 
everybody.  As  for  her,  she  wa'n't  going  to  men 
tion  it  again,  and  she  hoped  I  wouldn't.  I  was  will 
ing  to  keep  mum,  and  I  told  her  so. 

"We'll  forget  it,"  says  I. 

She  flared  up  right  off.  "Indeed,  we  won't  forget 
it!"  says  she.  "We  won't  talk  about  it  on  account 
of  his  feelings,  poor  suffering  soul!  but  I  want  you 
to  understand,  Mr.  Pratt,  that  I  believe  his  coming 
here  and  telling  us  that  story  wa'n't  any  accident. 
No  sir-ee!  He  was  sent  here;  that's  what  I  believe 
— he  was  sent.  And  some  day  that  lost  wife  of  his 
will  be  sent  here,  too.  You  see." 

I  thought  I  was  used  to  her  story-book  ways  by 
this  time,  but  every  once  in  a  while  she  gave  me  a 
fresh  jolt. 

"You  don't  really  believe  that,  do  you,  Eureka?" 
I  wanted  to  know. 

"Of  course  I  do." 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Humph!  And  you  believe  that  New  Bedford 
Deacon  of  Miss  Emeline's  will  come,  too?" 

"Yes." 

"And  that  my  tea-leaf  fortune,  money  and  all,  is 
coming  true?" 

"Sartin." 

"Well,  all  right.  As  a  believer,  Eureka,  you've 
got  the  rest  of  the  human  race  hull  down.  You 
didn't  use  to  be  this  way;  you  was  more  or  less  skep 
tic,  if  I  recollect  right.  What's  changed  you  so?" 

The  answer  was  ready  on  her  tongue. 

"Doctor  Lysander  P.  Wool,"  says  she,  emphatic 
and  reverent.  "He's  taught  me  to  think  right.  As 
we  think,  we  are.  You  think  right,  and  keep  on 
thinking,  and  everything'll  be  right.  Mark  my 
words." 

"They're  marked,"  says  I.  "But  tell  me  this: 
Do  you  think  that  Lysander  the  Gr — that  is,  Doc 
tor  Wool,  will  hire  His  Lordship  to  be  physical 
director  here?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  If  not,  why  was  Mr.  Hopper 
sent?" 

I  didn't  know,  so  I  didn't  try  to  answer.  If  my 
judgment  was  correct,  he'd  be  sent  away  full  as 
quick  as  he  come. 

But  he  wa'n't,  and  he  did  get  the  job.  After 
breakfast  was  over  he  marched  straight  into  Ly- 

152 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Sander's  office.  He  was  in  there  for  half  an  hour. 
When  he  come  out  the  Doctor  was  with  him.  By 
and  by  he  hunted  me  up — His  Lordship  did,  I 
mean — and  says  he : 

"Pratt,"  he  says,  "the  'ead  says  you're  to  fit  me 
to  a  livery  immediate." 

"Fit  you  to  a  what?"  says  I. 

"A  livery.     I'm  in  service  'ere  now." 

I  dropped  the  rake  I  was  using  and  stared  at  him. 

"Heavens  to  Betsy!"  I  sung  out.  "You  don't 
mean  he's  hired  you." 

He  drawed  himself  up,  dignified  as  a  Sunday 
School  superintendent. 

"Why  wouldn't  'e  'ire  me?"  says  he.  " 'E's  a 
good  judge  of  character,  the  'ead,  and  a  perfect 
gentleman.  A  man  like  me  don't  come  'is  way  every 
day  and  'e  knew  it.  'Im  and  me'll  get  on  fine.  And 
you're  to  'ave  me  fitted  to  the  livery  immediate." 

"Meaning " 

"Meaning  a  livery,  of  course.  A  suit  of  white, 
like  you  and  the  rest  of  the  'elp  wear." 

I  picked  up  the  rake  again.  'Twas  all  I  could  do 
to  keep  from  welting  him  over  the  main  truck  with 
the  handle  of  it. 

"Look  here,  Hopper,"  says  I,  "I  don't  know  how 
you  and  the  'head,'  as  you  call  him,  will  get  on,  but 
I  do  know  that  if  you  call  my  duds  a  'livery'  again 

153 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

there'll  be  trouble.  It's  bad  enough  to  go  around 
togged  out  like  a  life  saver  on  drill  day,  but  I  can 
stand  that  'cause  I'm  paid  for  it.  What  I  won't 
stand  is  to  have  them  togs  called  a  livery.  They 
may  be  one,  but  I  don't  want  to  know  it.  Under 
stand?" 

He  came  right  down  off  his  high  horse  and  begged 
my  pardon.  Said  of  course  he  could  see  they  wa'n't 
really  livery  at  all.  That  being  all  settled  satis 
factory,  I  took  him  to  the  supply  closet,  off  the 
kitchen,  and  sorted  out  some  white  duds  for  him 
to  put  on.  The  coats  was  all  right,  but  every  pair 
of  pants  we  had  on  hand  was  a  foot  too  short  for 
his  lower  yards.  However,  Eureka  said  she  cal'- 
lated  she  could  piece  onto  the  legs  of  a  couple  of 
pairs,  so  they'd  do  for  the  present,  and  we  let  it  go 
at  that.  Inside  of  twenty  minutes  he  was  rigged 
up,  white  and  regardless,  same  as  me,  but  there  was 
this  difference  betwixt  us — he  seemed  to  like  the  uni 
form  and  be  proud  of  it,  whereas  I  felt  all  the  time 
like  a  hand-organ  monkey.  And  he  kept  his  "Think 
Right"  badge  in  the  most  prominent  place  on  his 
chest,  while  I  hid  mine  under  the  lapel  of  my 
jacket.  It's  all  in  the  bringing  up,  I  presume  likely; 
he  was  used  to  monkey  clothes  and  I  wa'n't. 

But,  so  fur  as  his  job  went,  he  filled  it  fine.  Doc 
tor  Wool  was  tickled  to  death  with  him,  said  he 

154 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

was  a  "genuine  discovery" — whatever  that  might 
be. 

"A  most  superior  person,  Pratt,"  purrs  the  Wool 
man.  "Very  adequate  and  superior,  indeed — yes." 

Well,  he  was  superior,  too  everlasting  superior 
to  suit  me.  But  he  learned  to  keep  his  superiority 
for  the  Right  Livers  and  the  Doctor;  he  didn't  try 
much  of  it  in  my  latitude,  now  I  tell  you.  Course 
he  drapped  the  "sirs"  and  "Misters"  that  he  soft- 
soaped  me  with  the  first  night,  and  hailed  me  as 
"Pratt,"  same  as  he  used  to.  But  that  was  all  right; 
it  gave  me  the  chance  to  call  him  whatever  name 
come  handiest.  First  along  I  was  sort  of  afraid 
he'd  show  a  hankering  for  the  bounce  bottle,  but  he 
never  did,  and,  after  a  while,  I  forgot  to  expect  it; 
begun  to  think  maybe  I  was  mistook  about  that, 
after  all.  But  he  never  mentioned  his  lost  wife  from 
that  night,  and  we  never  mentioned  her  to  him. 

He  handled  the  patients  tiptop,  took  'em  on 
walks,  and  exercised  'em,  and  saw  that  they  was 
buried  proper  when  "sand-bath"  time  come.  Miss 
Emeline  Adams  thought  he  was  lovely,  and  Mrs. 
Cordova  Todd  fairly  raved  over  him.  She  said  he 
reminded  her  of  an  old  family  servant  she  had  once. 
"A  treasure,  Miss  Adams,  a  veritable  treasure,  I 
assure  you;  and  English,  of  course,  just  as  James 
is.  There  are  no  good  servants  but  the  English: 

15* 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

we  never  have  any  other  kind  at  home.  Hortense, 
my  dear,  do  you  remember  .  .  .  Who  was 
that  you  bowed  to?  Haven't  I  warned  you  not  to 
be  so  familiar  with  that  person?" 

The  "person"  was  Clayton  Saunders,  the  young 
feller  I'd  met  among  the  sand  tombs  that  morning, 
in  company  with  Professor  Quill  and  Wool.  He 
was  Marm  Todd's  special  horror,  though  the  only 
horrible  thing  about  him,  so  fur  as  I  could  make 
out,  was  that  he  didn't  have  much  money.  He  had 
a  little,  'cause  he  told  me  so  himself,  but  I  judged 
from  his  talk  that  he  was  pretty  toler'ble  hard  up, 
though  a  likely  boy  of  good  character.  Mrs.  Todd 
wa'n't  looking  for  character,  and  her  daughter  be 
ing  labeled  "For  Sale — All  Bidders  but  Million 
aires  Barred,"  she  made  up  her  mind  to  keep  Clay 
ton  off  the  premises.  Miss  Hortense  wa'n't  nigh 
so  particular,  judging  by  appearances;  she  seemed 
to  like  young  Saunders  mighty  well.  A  one-eyed 
man  could  have  seen  how  dead  gone  he  was  on  her, 
and,  consequently,  the  old  lady  was  as  fidgety  and 
nervous  as  a  hen  with  a  brood  of  ducks. 

Clayton  and  I  were  pretty  chummy  by  now.  His 
ailments — the  ones  that  had  fetched  him  to  the 
Rest  shop — was  about  all  gone,  and  he  might  have 
left  if  he'd  wanted  to;  but  he  didn't  want  to.  The 
reason  for  his  not  wanting  to  was  so  plain  that  even 

156 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  didn't  mention  it.  Now  that  Lord  James  was  on 
deck,  I  had  a  little  more  time  to  myself,  and  I  got 
a  chance  to  go  sailing  or  power-boating  once  in  a 
while.  Clayton  was  my  shipmate  on  a  good  many  of 
these  v'yages.  He  knew  a  little  something  about 
sailing  a  boat,  and  I  learned  him  a  lot  more.  Afore 
long  he  could  handle  a  catboat  under  power  or  can 
vas  in  any  sort  of  everyday  weather. 

Sometimes  old  Applecart — Applegate,  I  mean, 
went  along,  too.  A  couple  of  the  fleshy  patients — 
Smith  and  Hendricks  they  was — had  graduated 
from  the  sanitarium,  and  the  Colonel  and  Green- 
baum  didn't  hitch  up  any  too  well.  So  Applegate 
fell  back  on  me  and  young  Saunders  for  sociable- 
ness.  We  three  cruised  consider'ble.  The  Colonel 
was  neck  deep  in  his  stock  doings  just  at  present. 
There  was  what  he  called  a  "hen  on"  in  Consoli 
dated  Brick,  and  he,  being  president  of  the  concern, 
got  telegrams  and  letters  by  the  barrel.  First  along 
Doctor  Wool  was  fearful  of  all  this;  said  the  worry 
and  responsibility  would  be  too  much  for  the  patient, 
and  the  telegrams  and  things  must  stop.  Then  the 
Colonel  made  proclamations — he  was  cranky  as  all 
get  out  by  this  time;  lost  two  pounds  of  temper 
with  every  one  of  flesh — he  made  proclamation  that 
if  they  stopped  coming  he'd  start  going;  he'd  leave 
the  rippetty-rip  sanitarium  that  minute.  So  Ly- 

157 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

sander  thought  it  over  and  changed  his  mind;  said 
he  guessed  long  as  the  Colonel  thought  'twas  right, 
why,  doubtless  'twas;  thought  was  all;  as  we 
thought,  we  was ;  etcetery  and  so  forth. 

Applegate  and  young  Saunders  had  some  lively 
arguments  on  those  sailing  trips.  I  remember  one 
particular.  I  was  at  the  helm,  of  course,  and  them 
two  was  sprawled  around  in  the  cockpit,  taking  life 
easy.  The  talk  had  drifted  from  one  thing  to  an 
other  till  it  run  afoul  of  business  and  opportunity 
and  such. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  chances  and  opportuni 
ties,"  says  the  Colonel.  "That  sort  of  stuff  makes 
me  tired.  There's  opportunities  laying  around  loose 
everywhere;  the  trouble  is  that  you  young  chaps 
don't  know  an  opportunity  when  you  see  it.  Or, 
if  you  do  know  it,  you  are  afraid  to  risk  the  chance 
of  grabbing  it.  I  tell  you  right  now  that  if  I  hadn't 
taken  risks  I  wouldn't  be  what  I  am  to-day.  I  don't 
know  as  you  know  it,  but  I'm  what  they  call  a  self- 
made  man." 

Clayton  winked  over  his  shoulder  at  me.  If  we 
didn't  know  it,  'twa'n't  because  we  hadn't  been  told 
often  enough.  Colonel  Applegate's  self-madeness 
was  the  one  thing  he  talked  about  more'n  anything 
else,  except,  maybe,  the  stuff  they  gave  him  to  ea* 
at  the  Rest  shop. 

158 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Now  that  you  remind  me,  Colonel,"  says  Saund- 
ers,  serious  as  could  be,  "I  believe  you  have  men 
tioned  that  fact.  Yes,  I  distinctly  recall  your  men 
tioning  it.  You  remember  Colonel  Applegate's 
hinting  that  he  was  self-made,  don't  you,  Pratt?" 

I  had  to  get  over  a  hard  coughing  fit  afore  I 
could  trust  myself  to  answer. 

"Yes,"  says  I,  choking,  "seems  to  me  I  do." 

"Yes,"  says  Clayton,  not  a  smile  on  his  face  any 
wheres,  "we  both  remember  it,  Colonel." 

"Well,  I  am,  whether  you  remember  it  or  not. 
Now,  look  here,  Saunders,  I'm  old  enough  to  be 
your  father  and  I'm  going  to  talk  to  you  as  if  I  was 
just  that.  I've  had  my  eye  on  you  for  some  time. 
You're  a  nice  young  feller,  and  smart  enough  in 
some  things,  but,  unless  I'm  mightily  mistaken,  you 
haven't  got  what  I  call  the  business  sense." 

"So?"  says  Clayton. 

"Yes,  it's  so.  See  here,  you've  got  some  money 
of  your  own,  haven't  you?" 

Clayton  kind  of  hesitated.  I  cal'late  he  was  de 
bating  whether  to  tell  Applegate  to  mind  his  own 
concerns  or  not.  I  guess  likely  the  Colonel  knew 
what  was  in  his  mind,  for  says  he: 

"Of  course,"  he  says,  "I'm  not  butting  in.  You 
needn't  answer  unless  you  want  to.  My  idea  was 
to  hand  you  a  little  advice  that  might  be  worth 

159 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

something  to  you  some  day,  but  it's  no  compulsory 
dose ;  you  don't  have  to  take  it  unless  you  want  to." 

"Quite  willing  to  take  it,  Colonel,  and  obliged, 
besides.  Yes,  I  have  a  little  money." 

"How  much?" 

"Well,  thirty  thousand  dollars,  perhaps." 

I  pretty  nigh  fell  off  the  stern  thwart. 

"Thirty  thousand  dollars!"  I  sung  out.  "Thirty 
thousand!  Great  land  of  love!  How  you  talk  I 
Thought  you  told  me  you  only  had  a  little." 

He  hunched  his  shoulders.  "That's  little  enough, 
when  it's  all  you've  got,  isn't  it?"  says  he. 

"Little!  My  godfrey's  domino  I  Thirty  thou 
sand!  Why " 

"Shut  up,  Pratt,"  cuts  in  Applegate.  "You 
haven't  any  business  sense,  either." 

"Maybe  not,  but  if  I  had  thirty  thousand  dollars 
I  wouldn't  worry  about  the  sense — no,  nor  the  cents, 
nuther." 

"Shut  up,  I  tell  you.  Saunders,  what  are  you 
doing  with  that  money?  Is  it  earning  anything?" 

"It's  bringing  me  a  fair  rate  of  interest,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  Now  that  I'm  knocked  out  of 
working  I  manage  to  live  on  my  income,  after  a 
fashion." 

"Bah!  Why,  see  here,  young  man;  if  you  had 
the  business  sense  I'm  talking  about  you  would  have 

1 60 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

doubled  that  money  before  now.  When  I  was  your 
age  I  didn't  have  thirty  thousand  by  a  whole  lot, 
but  what  I  did  have  was  making  more  fast.  You 
don't  take  advantage  of  your  opportunities,  that's 
what's  the  matter  with  you." 

He  went  on  to  tell  about  "opportunities"  he'd 
taken  advantage  of  in  his  day.  They  had  different 
names  and  lived  in  different  parts  of  the  country, 
but  he'd  took  advantage  of  'em,  all  right  If  I 
was  an  opportunity  and  owned  a  ten  cent  piece  I'd 
bury  it  when  I  heard  he  was  anywheres  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  And  even  then  I'd  sit  on  the  grave. 

Saunders  listened,  smiling  and  calm.  Applegate 
finished  up  something  like  this: 

"I've  got  an  opportunity  right  now,"  he  says. 
"One  of  my  little  jobs  happens  to  be  the  presidency 
of  the  Consolidated  Porcelain  Brick  Company;  the 
fact  is,  if  you  asked  me,  I  should  say  I  was  pretty 
near  the  whole  works.  Possibly  you've  noticed  that 
the  papers  are  giving  some  space  to  the  company 
just  now.  There's  a  question  of  a  dividend;  per 
haps  you've  noticed  that.  Some  people  think  we're 
making  money  and  will  declare  that  dividend. 
Others  think  we've  been  losing  money  during  the 
past  year  and  will  pass  it.  Whichever  way  the  cat 
jumps,  there's  going  to  be  a  big  difference  in  the 
price  of  the  stock.  Now  I'm  the  only  one  that  really 

161 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

knows  what  is  going  to  happen.  It's  up  to  me. 
That's  what  I  call  an  opportunity." 

I  should  have  called  it  one,  myself.  Clayton 
Saunders  laughed. 

"When  is  the  guileless  outsider  to  be  informed 
as  to  the  Beat's  jumping?"  he  asked. 

"At  the  annual  meeting  in  Boston.  That's  next 
Friday,  four  days  off.  I  shall  be  at  that  meeting, 
my  boy,  and " 

But  I  interrupted.  "You  will?"  I  sung  out.  "You 
will?  Why,  Colonel,  look  a-here!  How  are  you 
going  to  get  away  from  the  sanitarium?  Doctor 
Wool  won't  let  you  off,  will  he?" 

He  winked.  "There  are  some  things  he  can't 
help,"  he  says,  "and  that's  one  of  'em.  I'll  be  at 
that  meeting.  If  I  wasn't,  there'd  be  the  dickens  to 
pay  in  the  stock  market." 

This  was  of  a  Monday.  'Twas  Wednesday  even 
ing  that  the  big  happenings  commenced.  I  was 
down  at  the  cove,  digging  some  clams  for  the  help's 
breakfast.  Colonel  Applegate  was  setting  on  a  sand 
heap,  watching  me  and  making  guesses  as  to  who 
owned  a  steam  yacht  that  was  laying  to  four  or  five 
mile  out  in  the  bay.  She'd  been  there  all  day  long 
and  nobody  in  our  latitude  knew  who  owned  her. 

After  a  spell  Lord  James  happened  along,  and 
him  and  the  Colonel  got  to  talking.  I  didn't  pay 

162 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

much  attention  to  their  jabber,  being  busy,  and 
pretty  soon  they  went  away  together. 

I  filled  my  dreener  with  clams  and  started  for  the 
house.  'Twas  a  gloomy,  overcast  kind  of  an  after 
noon  and  now  'twas  getting  dark  fast.  I  looked 
around,  when  I  got  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  for 
Applegate  and  His  Lordship,  but  I  didn't  see  noth 
ing  of  'em.  I  was  moving  on  again,  when  I  heard 
a  yell. 

"Help!" 

I  stopped  and  turned  quick.  The  yell  seemed  to 
come  from  somewheres  out  on  the  bay,  I  thought. 
I  looked  and  looked.  The  yell  come  again. 

"Help,  Pratt!     Help!" 

And  then  another  voice. 

"'ElpI     'Elp!" 

I  give  another  long  look  and  then  I  saw  'em. 

Out  about  a  hundred  yards  or  so  beyond  where 
the  Dora  Bassett  lay  at  her  moorings  was  a  dark 
spot  on  the  water;  a  boat,  'twas,  and  in  it  was  two 
people  waving  their  arms  and  yelling.  I  couldn't 
see  'em  plain,  'twas  getting  too  dark  for  that,  but 
I  didn't  need  to.  That  last  "  'elp !"  proved  that  one 
was  Lord  James;  and  the  other  must  be  Colonel 
Applecart.  But  what  was  they  doing  out  there? 
And  what  ailed  'em?  And  whose  boat  was  they 
in? 

163 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

The  last  question  answered  itself  first.  I  looked 
down  the  beach  to  where  my  skiff  ought  to  be.  She 
wa'n't  there.  She  was  gone. 

The  yells  kept  coming  all  the  time,  and  more 
desperate  every  second.  What  on  earth  could  be 
the  matter?  I  dropped  my  dreener  and  run  up 
the  beach  towards  the  point. 

"What  ails  you?"  I  hollered. 

"He-lp!     'Elp!     Help!    'Elp!" 

That  was  the  only  answer  I  got.  There  must 
be  something  desperate.  I  was  getting  scared. 
Were  they  sinking,  or  what? 

"Come  quick,  Pratt!  For  'eaven's  sake,  come! 
'Elp!" 

If  I'd  had  time  to  think,  I  might  not  have  acted 
like  a  fool,  maybe.  It  generally  takes  time  to  keep 
the  average  man  from  acting  that  way,  and  I'm 
only  average.  What  I  should  have  done,  of  course, 
was  to  swim  to  the  Dora  Bassett  and  go  after  'em 
in  her.  But  I  didn't.  I  was  scared,  and  my  one 
idee  was  to  get  to  them  two  landlubbers  as  soon  as 
possible.  So  I  run  out  to  the  end  of  the  point  ahead 
of  where  they  was  drifting  and  started  wading 
towards  'em. 

"I'm  coming,     I  whooped,  "I'm  a-coming." 

"Help!     'Elp!" 

Well,  I  started  wading,  as  I  said,  but  pretty  soon 
164 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  got  where  I  couldn't  wade  no  more.  The  shore's 
pretty  bold  off  that  point,  and  the  water  deepens 
quick.  I  got  up  to  my  waist;  then  to  my  shoulders. 
I  couldn't  wade,  and,  if  I  didn't  do  something  in  a 
hurry,  that  skiff  would  drift  by  me.  Don't  tell  me 
I'd  ought  to  have  let  it  drift  and  gone  back  for 
the  motor  boat.  Don't  tell  me  nothing.  Land 
knows  I've  thought  enough  about  it  since. 

"  'Elp !     'Elp !     We're  drowning !" 

That  settled  it.  In  I  splashed,  heaa,  neck  and 
heels,  and  commenced  to  swim  out  to  meet  that 
skiff. 

'Twould  have  been  a  pretty  good  swim  if  there 
hadn't  been  any  tide;  but  there  was  a  tide — I  hadn't 
took  twenty  strokes  afore  I  realized  it,  but  'twas 
too  late  to  back  out.  On  I  went,  fighting  for  all 
there  was  in  me.  Once  I  thought  I  wa'n't  going  to 
make  it,  and  then  I  remembered  I'd  got  to.  'Twa'n't 
a  question  now  of  just  saving  them  two  idiots ;  'twas 
one  of  saving  me.  I'd  got  to  make  that  skiff  or  go 
under,  one  or  t'other. 

Well,  I  made  it,  but  just  barely.  She  was  'most 
past  me  afore  I  got  alongside. 

"Hand  me  an  oar,"  I  managed  to  pant  out. 
"Reach  me — oar — so's  I — can  get  a  holt." 

But  nothing  doing.  Old  Applegate,  in  the  stern, 
just  set  and  looked  at  me,  and  Lord  James,  amid- 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

ship,  waved  both  arms  and  kept  hollering  for  help. 
I  took  a  couple  of  everlasting  big  strokes  and  man 
aged  to  grab  hold  of  the  skiff's  rail,  close  to  the 
stern.  Then,  for  a  jiffy,  I  hung  on  and  fought 
for  breath. 

"Get  in,  get  in,"  orders  Applegate.  "What  are 
you  waiting  for?" 

Getting  in  wa'n't  such  an  easy  matter.  I  thought 
sartin  the  craft  would  upset  afore  I  swung  over  the 
rail.  Course  if  I  hadn't  hitched  along  up  towards 
the  bow  she  would  have  capsized.  But  get  in  I  did, 
though  a  bucketful  of  salt  water  got  in  with  me. 

"Why  in  tunket,"  I  gasped,  soon's  I  could  gasp 
anything,  "didn't  you  reach  me  that  oar?  Couldn't 
you  see  I  was  next  door  to  foundering?" 

The  answer  I  got  wa'n't  what  you'd  call  satis 
fying.  The  Colonel  bu'st  out  into  a  perfect  hail 
storm  of  cuss  words;  they  seemed  to  be  hove  at 
Lord  James,  nigh  as  I  could  make  out. 

"Here!"  I  ordered  finally.  "Stow  that,  will  you? 
What  ails  you  two,  anyway?  Show  me  where  the 
leak  is,  so's  I  can  stop  it." 

His  Lordship  answered,  if  you  call  it  an  answer. 

"Leak!"  says  he.  "Is  there  a  leak?  My  word! 
Oh,  it's  awful.  We're  lost!  'Elp!  'Elp!" 

I  grabbed  him  by  the  neck.  I  was  mad,  and 
some  scared,  besides. 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Dry  up!"  I  ordered,  "or  I'll  choke  you.  Colo 
nel,  where's  the  leak?" 

"There's  no  leak  that  I  know  of." 

"No  leak!  Then  what  in  time  is  the  matter  with 
you?  I  thought  you  said  you  was  drowning." 

"I  didn't.    Twas  that  jackass  there.    He " 

"Stop !  I  want  to  know  what's  the  matter?  What 
were  you  yelling  help  and  blue  murder  for?  I 
thought  you  were  sinking  sure.  And  there  ain't  any 
leak.  Except  for  what  she  shipped  when  I  got  in, 
she's  dry  as  a  contribution  box.  Well,  never  mind 
it  now;  you  can  tell  me  later.  Give  me  the  oars 
and  let's  get  ashore." 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"Oars!"  gasps  Hopper.  "There — there 

Why,  Pratt,  it's  awful!  There " 

"Blast  it!"  roars  Applegate.  "That's  what's  the 
matter.  There  ain't  any  oars." 

Well,  it  sounds  silly  enough,  but  'twas  a  fact; 
there  wa'n't  any  oars.  There  had  been  one — one 
that  I'd  left  in  the  skiff  to  use  when  I  went  off  to 
the  motor  boat — but  that  one  His  Lordship  had 
managed  to  lose  overboard.  Seemed  that  the  Colo 
nel  had  taken  a  notion  into  his  fat  head  to  go  to  the 
Dora  Bassett  and  get  a  memorandum  book  he'd 
left  there  the  day  afore;  'twas  one  he'd  kept  a  rec 
ord  of  his  stock  doings  in  and  he'd  been  looking  it 

167 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

over  and  had  left  it  on  the  locker  around  the  cockpit. 
If  he'd  asked  me  to  pilot  him  'twould  have  been 
all  right;  but  he  didn't;  he  ordered  Lord  James  to 
do  it. 

'Twas  shoal  water  between  the  Dora  and  the 
shore,  and  His  Lordship  used  the  one  oar  to 
reach  down  to  the  bottom  and  shove.  They  got 
the  book,  but  when  they  started  in  again  the  oar 
got  stuck  in  the  mud  and  wouldn't  come  out,  pulled 
loose  from  Hopper's  hands  and  stayed  where  'twas. 
The  skiff  didn't  stay,  though;  it  commenced  to  drift 
out  to  sea.  Even  then  if  one  had  jumped  in  and 
waded  'twould  have  been  all  serene,  but  neither 
hankered  to  get  wet,  so  they  set  still.  Pretty  soon 
they  was  out  where  'twas  over  their  heads  and  they 
couldn't  wade  if  they  wanted  to.  Then  they  com 
menced  to  yell. 

'Twas  a  fine  mess  to  be  in,  and  the  more  I  thought 
of  it  the  finer  it  looked.  The  wind  was  breezing 
up,  'twas  getting  darker  all  the  time,  and  we  was 
getting  further  and  further  away  from  home  and 
ma,  as  the  saying  is.  There  wa'n't  a  blessed  thing 
to  do  but  drift — and  we  drifted. 

'Twa'n't  a  silent  drift,  the  first  part  of  it,  any 
how.  Applecart  asked  more'n  a  million  questions, 
and  when  he  found  out  I  was  going  to  set  still  and 
do  nothing,  he  commenced  to  call  me  about  every 

1 68 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

name  he  could  think  of.  I  stood  it  for  awhile  and 
then  I  spoke  my  mind. 

"That'll  be  enough  of  that,"  says  I.  "I'll  admit 
there  is  a  dum  fool  aboard  this  craft,  but  we  might 
not  agree  as  to  his  location.  If  you've  got  to  talk, 
talk  to  yourself,  and  not  to  me.  'Twas  my  oar  you 
lost,  and  it's  my  skiff  you  run  off  in.  If  I  don't 
call  names,  you  needn't.  Keep  still." 

But  he  didn't  keep  still;  he  commenced  to  lay  into 
Lord  James.  He  had  an  easier  victim  there,  for 
His  Lordship  was  scart  pretty  nigh  to  death  and 
expected  to  drown  every  other  second.  He  wouldn't 
talk  back,  so,  after  a  spell,  the  Colonel  let  up  on 
him,  and  whatever  proclamation  he  had  to  make 
was  mainly  hove  at  the  sanitarium  and  Wool.  I'd 
heard  him  do  that  so  often  that  I  judged  his 
barometer  was  getting  back  to  "cloudy  and  lower 
ing"  instead  of  "high  temperature  and  wind 
squalls." 

We  drifted  and  drifted,  afore  the  breeze,  which 
wa'n't  directly  off  shore,  but  kind  of  quartering.  It 
carried  us  up  the  beach,  but  further  out  all  the  time. 
'Twas  black  night  by  now,  and  it  got  to  be  nine, 
and  ten,  and  then  eleven  o'clock.  By  and  by,  off 
on  the  port  bow,  I  see  a  little  twinkle  of  a  light. 
It  got  brighter  and  brighter  as  we  drifted  nigher  to 
it,  and  at  last  I  made  out  that  it  must  be  a  lamp  in 

169 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  window  of  some  house  on  a  point  making  out 
from  the  main. 

I  wa'n't  used  to  these  latitudes  much;  most  of 
my  cruising  had  been  done  further  down  the  Cape 
a  good  ways;  but  I  did  know  that  the  beach  along 
here  was  as  lonesome  as  a  graveyard,  and  I'd  never 
heard  of  anybody's  living  on  it.  However,  some-  • 
body  must  live  there,  or  else  what  was  the  light? 

We  drifted  and  drifted.  I  could  see  that  we 
was  likely  to  drift  by  and  I  was  figgering  on  jumping 
overboard  and  making  a  try  for  land  by  towing  the 
skiff.  But  pretty  soon  there  came  a  little  shift  of 
wind  that  carried  us  in  nigher. 

Colonel  Applecart  hadn't  spoke  a  word  for  a 
long  time;  he  was  asleep,  I  cal'late.  I'll  say  this 
for  the  old  chap,  except  for  the  first  few  minutes 
after  he  found  we  was  liable  to  drift  to  Jericho  he 
hadn't  whimpered  nor  acted  scared.  Mad — ye«, 
but  not  frightened  a  hair.  And  now  he  was  asleep. 
As  for  Lord  James,  he  hadn't  talked  much  nuther, 
but  he  wa'n't  asleep.  He  sat  all  huddled  up  on 
the  thwart  amidship  and  every  once  in  a  while  he'd 
shiver  and  groan.  'Twas  plain  enough  that  he  fig- 
gered  on  making  a  port  a  good  deal  further  off 
than  Jericho,  and  he  wa'n't  happy  at  the  prospect. 

As  I  say,  that  shift  of  wind  carried  us  nigher 
to  the  point  and  the  light  on  it.  And  now,  above 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  splash  of  the  water  and  the  whistling  of  the 
breeze  in  the  pines  ashore,  I  begun  to  hear  a  queer 
kind  of  noise;  heard  it  and  lost  it  and  then  heard 
it  again. 

"What  in  the  nation,"  says  I,  "is  that?  Music, 
ain't  it?" 

Hopper  groaned.  "I've  'card  it  a  long  while," 
says  he.  "It's  'arps,  spirit  'arps  a-wailing.  It's  a 
warning  for  us.  It's  our  death  knell.  We're  gone ! 
We're  gone!  Oh,  why  did  I  come  'ere?" 

I  could  have  told  him  why  he  come,  but  'twould 
have  taken  too  long  to  do  the  subject  justice.  Be 
sides,  I  begun  to  get  a  glimmer  of  hope. 

"Harps  nothing!"  says  I.  "It's  a  concertina  and 
it's  playing  'Old  Dan  Tucker.'  Here,  you !  You 
done  consider'ble  yelling  a  spell  ago  when  'twa'n't 
any  use.  See  if  you  can  yell  now,  when  it  may 
amount  to  something.  There's  somebody  awake  in 
that  house,  or  shanty,  or  whatever  'tis.  Help  me 
roust  him  out." 

I  made  a  speaking  trumpet  of  my  hands  and  com 
menced  to  whoop  "Ahoy!"  and  "Hello!"  at  the 
top  of  my  lungs.  His  Lordship  joined  in,  holler 
ing  "  'Elp !"  and  "Save  us !"  The  Colonel  woke  up, 
and,  after  asking  what  in  brimstone  was  the  matter, 
opened  his  mouth  and  roared  "Hi!"  and  "Hello!" 
like  the  bull  of  Bashan. 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

For  a  spell  our  screeching  didn't  do  a  mite  of 
good.  Old  Dan  Tucker  kept  on  being  a  nice  old 
man  that  washed  his  face  in  a  frying-pan,  and  that 
was  all.  Fur's  that  goes,  the  tune  sounded  as  if 
'twas  made  with  a  frying-pan,  being  squeaky  and 
scratchy  and  tooth-gritting.  But,  at  last,  just  as  I 
was  giving  up  hope  and  about  ready  to  make  a  try 
at  the  swimming,  it  stopped. 

"Now,  then,"  I  sung  out;  "all  together.    Hel-lo!" 

And  the  Colonel  and  Hopper  joined  in  with 
"Hi-I!"  and  "'Elp!" 

Then  the  door  of  the  building  swung  open  and 
we  could  see  a  man's  figger,  a  black  shadow  against 
the  lamplight. 

"Ahoy!"  he  yelled.  "Who  are  you?  What's  the 
matter?" 

"  'E-elp !"  bellers  Lord  James.  I  had  to  tell  him 
three  times  to  shut  up  afore  he'd  do  it. 

"We're  adrift  in  a  skiff  without  any  oars,"  I 
whooped.  "Come  off  and  pick  us  up,  won't  ye?" 

I  had  to  say  that  three  times  afore  the  feller  in 
the  doorway  seemed  to  sense  it.  But  then  he  come 
to  life  in  a  hurry.  Inside  of  ten  minutes  he  was 
alongside  in  a  dory  and  had  us  in  tow.  We  would 
have  made  a  first  rate  landing  only  for  one  thing; 
the  Colonel  was  so  anxious  to  get  on  dry  land  that 
he  jumped  heavy  on  a  rotten  board  in  the  skiff's 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

bottom — I  didn't  know  'twas  rotten  or  I'd  have  had 
it  fixed  afore  this — and  went  through,  both  feet. 
The  water  wa'n't  more'n  ten  inches  deep  at  the 
time,  which  was  a  mercy,  and  all  the  harm  it  done 
was  for  him  to  trip  and  fall  overboard  with  a  splash 
like  an  elephant  taking  a  bath.  But  I  couldn't  help 
thinking,  suppose  it  had  happened  when  we  was 
off  there  in  the  bay? 

We  fished  him  out — that  is,  the  feller  who  had 
picked  us  up  and  I  did;  Lord  James  was  half-way 
up  the  beach  when  it  happened — and  started  him 
on  a  run  for  the  house.  Then  I  turned  to  our  life- 
saver,  and  says  I : 

"Well,"  I  says,  "I  sartin  am  obliged  to  you, 
Mister — Mister " 

"My  name's  Doane,"  he  drawls;  "Philander 
Doane.  I  know  you,  don't  I?  You're  Sol  Pratt, 
from  over  to  Wapatomac.  Have  you  broke  old 
Scudder's  neck  yet?" 

'Twas  the  long-legged  loafer  I'd  met  on  the  wharf 
that  morning  when  I  fetched  Miss  Emeline  back  in 
the  Dora  Bassett. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WELL,  whoever  he  was,  I  was  awful  glad 
to  see  him  just  then,  and  I  told  him  so. 
Together  we  hauled  my  skiff  and  his 
dory  up  on  the  sand-  There  was  a  sailboat  moored 
a  little  further  out  and  it  tickled  me  to  see  her.  She 
looked  to  me  like  a  way  of  getting  home  again. 

"That's  too  bad  about  your  skiff,  ain't  it,"  says 
he.  "She's  liable  to  ta"ke  in  water  some  now,  ain't 
she?" 

I  couldn't  help  laughing.  "She  can't  take  in  much 
more'n  she's  got  already,"  I  told  him. 

"No,"  says  he,  solemn,  "not  till  the  tide's  come 
up.  I  was  cal'lating  to  haul  my  dory  up  and  caulk 
her.  She  leaks  so  she  ain't  fit  to  use  on  any  longish 
trip.  Say,  if  I  had  hauled  her  up  I'd  have  had 
some  trouble  getting  alongside  of  you,  wouldn't  I." 

I  told  him  I  presumed  likely  he  would,  and  we 
started  for  the  house.  'Twa'n't  much  of  a  house, 
nothing  but  a  two-room  shanty  downstairs,  with  a 
loft  overhead.  I  found  out  afterwards  that  this 
Philander  Doane  was  what  the  summer  folks  label 
a  hermit,  meaning  somebody  that  ain't  loony,  but 

174 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

is  next  door  to  it,  being  odd  and  queer  and  inde 
pendent  as  a  hog  on  ice.  Loony  was  the  only  thing 
he  was  next  door  to;  for  he  lived  alone  in  that 
shanty,  fishing  and  clamming  and  gunning,  and  there 
wa'n't  a  neighbor  nigher  than  eight  miles. 

Afore  we  got  to  the  shanty  Colonel  Applegate 
stuck  his  head  out  of  the  door.  His  temper  had 
been  getting  raggeder  all  the  time,  and  the  sousing 
he  got  when  he  fell  overboard  had  just  about  ripped 
what  was  left  of  it  to  ravellings. 

"For  heaven's  sakes!"  says  he.  "Pratt,  are  you 
going  to  stay  out  there  and  talk  all  night?  Come 
in  here,  will  you?  I'm  freezing  to  death." 

I  started  to  hurry,  but  the  Philander  Doane  man 
didn't.  I  cal'late  you  couldn't  have  hurried  him 
with  a  red-hot  poker. 

"Say,"  says  he,  as  if  he'd  made  some  kind  of 
discovery,  "he's  sort  of  fretty,  ain't  he?  What  got 
him  tittered  up  that  way?" 

"Nothing  got  him,"  says  I.  "He  was  born  'tit 
tered  up,'  as  you  call  it,  and  having  his  own  way  all 
his  life  has  kept  him  so.  Come  on,  come  on." 

He  come  on,  but  he  come  so  deliberate  you  had 
to  watch  the  things  he  went  by  to  make  sure  he  was 
moving. 

The  setting-room  or  dining-room  or  kitchen,  or 
all  three  together,  of  the  shanty  wa'n't  much  big- 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

ger'n  a  dry  goods  box.  There  was  a  table  in  it, 
and  a  couple  of  crippled  chairs,  and  a  big,  rusty 
cook-stove  with  a  wood  fire.  Applegate,  in  his  wet 
clothes,  was  hugging  the  stove  as  if  he  loved  it.  As 
for  Lord  James,  he  was  roosting  on  one  of  the 
chairs,  looking  happier  than  ever  I'd  seen  him  in 
my  life. 

"Come,  come,  come !"  snaps  the  Colonel,  his  teeth 
rattling,  "put  some  more  wood  on  this  fire,  will  you? 
Can't  you  see  I'm  half  frozen?" 

If  Philander  saw  it,  it  didn't  appear  to  jar  him 
none  to  speak  of.  He  hauled  his  feet  over  to  the 
stove  and  took  off  one  of  the  covers. 

"  'Tis  sort  of  feeble,  ain't  it,"  he  says,  referring 
to  the  fire.  "I  snum !  I  never  noticed  it.  I  was 
setting  here,  a-playing  to  myself,  when  I  heard  you 
folks  a-hollering.  Thinks  I,  'Who's  that  a-hailing 
this  time  of  night?'  Generally  speaking,  there 
ain't  nobody  comes  by  here  more'n  once  a  week 
and " 

"For  heaven's  sakes!"  roars  the  Colonel  again. 
"Are  you  going  to  get  that  wood,  or  ain't  you?" 

Philander  looked  him  over.  "Why,  yes,"  says  he, 
as  deliberate  as  ever,  "I'll  get  it,  maybe,  if  I  feel 
like  it.  I  most  always  cal'late  to  do  about  what  I 
feel  like." 

I  judged  'twas  time  for  me  to  take  a  hand.  I 
176 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

didn't  want  a  row  the  first  ten  minutes  after  I  got 
ashore. 

"Never  you  mind,  Doane,"  says  I,  "I'll  get  the 
wood." 

But  he  wouldn't  let  me.  "It's  my  wood,"  he  says, 
"and  I'll  get  it — when  I  get  ready." 

However,  I  went  with  him  when  he  went  out 
back  of  the  shanty  to  fetch  the  wood. 

"You  mustn't  mind  the  Colonel,"  I  says. 

"I  wa'n't  cal'lating  to,"  says  he,  amazing  prompt, 
for  him. 

"I  mean  you  mustn't  mind  his  talking  sharp  like 
that.  His  digestion  ain't  very  good,  and  he  ain't 
used  to  roughing  it.  He's  one  of  Doctor  Wool's 
patients  over  to  the  sanitarium." 

He  turned  around  with  his  arms  full  of  pine 
sticks,  and  stared  at  me. 

"You  mean  he's  one  of  them  crazy  critters?"  he 
says.  "One  of  them  lives  on  raw  meat  and  cow 
feed?  Humph!  I  always  wanted  to  see  one  of 
them  durn  fools." 

"Well,  you'll  see  one  now,  for  a  spell,  anyhow. 
But  you  mustn't  think  he's  a  fool." 

"He  can't  get  no  cow  feed  here.  I  don't  keep  a 
beef  critter.  Who's  the  other  one?" 

"He  belongs  to  the  sanitarium,  too.  One  of  the 
help,  he  is." 

177 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"What  makes  him  talk  so  funny?  Calls  help, 
'elp.  What  ails  him — got  a  split  palate,  has  he? 
My  cousin  Nate's  second  oldest  boy's  got  one  of 
them  and  he  talks  like  a  sponge." 

"No,  no.  His  palate's  all  right.  He  talks  that 
way  'cause  he's  an  Englishman.  He  ain't  been  in 
this  country  more'n  a  dozen  year." 

He  pretty  nigh  dropped  the  wood.  "Sho!"  he 
drawls.  "How  you  talk!  You  don't  say!  A  Brit 
isher,  hey?  Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  keep  him 
here — over  night,  anyhow." 

"Why  wouldn't  you  keep  him,  for  the  land 
sakes?" 

"Why  would  I  ?  Dum  foreigners !  fighting 
against  our  folks,  and  all." 

"Fighting  against  'em!  He  never  fought  against 
our  folks.  We  ain't  fought  with  England  for  a 
hundred  year." 

"Don't  make  no  difference;  his  great  granddad 
done  it,  I  bet  you !  And  so'd  he,  if  he  dared.  Well, 
I'm  American,  by  Judas,  and  he  better  not  say  noth 
ing  against  the  Stars  and  Stripes  while  I'm  around. 
Say,  he  dresses  just  like  real  folks,  don't  he?" 

I  didn't  answer.  I  judged  he  figgered  that  Eng 
lishmen  wore  bead  necklaces  and  calico,  like  South 
Sea  Islanders.  He  was  a  specimen,  that  Doane 
man.  How  he'd  escaped  being  caught  and  caged 

178 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

for  a  ten-cent  museum  was  more'n  I  could  make  out. 

We  toted  in  the  wood  and  got  the  fire  going  nice 
and  comfortable.  Lord  James  still  set  in  one  of 
the  chairs  and  Applegate  had  cabbaged  the  other 
and  was  hugging  the  stove.  Doane  kept  staring  at 
Hopper  as  if  he  was  some  kind  of  animal. 

"Say,"  says  I,  after  a  spell,  "ain't  got  nothing  to 
eat  aboard  this  craft,  have  you,  Philander?" 

His  Lordship  spoke  up. 

"If  I  might  'ave  something  'ot,"  he  says.  "A 
bit  of  'ot  toast  now.  And  some  tea,  some  'ot 
tea." 

Doane  had  started  to  haul  the  table  into  the 
middle  of  the  room.  He  stopped  hauling. 

"Tea!"  says  he.  "Tea!  What  do  you  want  tea 
for?" 

"Why — why,  to  drink,  of  course,"  says  Lord 
James.  "Upon  me  word,  I  believe  the  man  thinks 
I  want  to  bathe  in  it." 

"Bathe !  What  do  you  want  to  bathe  for?  Tea ! 
and  a  bath!  Did  you  ever  hear  such  talk?  I'll 
give  you  coffee,  if  that'll  do.  If  you  want  a  bath 
you'll  have  to  go  down  to  the  shore.  Salt  water's 
good  enough  bathing  for  me,  and  I'm  an  Ameri 
can." 

"The  coffee'll  be  tip-top,"  I  says  in  a  hurry.  "Can 
I  help  you,  Philander?" 

179 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

But  Colonel  Applegate  had  a  sermon  to  preach 
first. 

"In  the  name  of  common  sense,  Pratt,"  he 
snapped,  "what  are  you  thinking  of?  Can't  you  see 
I'm  soaked  to  the  skin?  Let  the  fellow  get  me  some 
dry  clothes  first.  How  much  longer  must  I  sit  here 
like  a  drowned  rat?" 

Doane  was  pawing  'round  on  a  shelf  after  the 
coffee  pot.  For  a  second  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  heave  it  at  the  Colonel,  but  he  didn't;  he  just 
set  it  down  on  the  table  with  a  bang. 

"Well — by  Judas!"  says  he,  fervent. 

"See  here,  you,"  says  Applegate,  not  noticing  the 
danger  signals,  "have  you  got  any  clothes  in  this 
shack  that'll  fit  me?" 

"No,  I  ain't." 

"You  haven't?    Well,  this  is  a  devil  of  a  mess!" 

"Colonel,"  says  I,  "suppose  you  take  this  coat  of 
mine.  It's  only  white  duck,  and  it's  damp  yet;  but 
it's  dryer  than  yours." 

"What  in  blazes  do  I  want  to  take  your  clothes 
for?  You've  been  overboard,  too,  and  you  need 
'em  as  much  as  I  do." 

"Maybe  Lord  Ja — Hopper  here'll  lend  you  some 
of  his  rigout.  He's  the  only  one  of  us  that  ain't 
been  ducked  so  fur." 

His  Lordship  didn't  look  real  enthusiastic. 
180 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"I'm  afraid  they'll  be  a  bit  small,  Colonel  Apple- 
gate,  sir,"  he  says.  "  'Owever,  if  you  say  so, 
I'll " 

But  Philander  interfered. 

"There's  my  Sunday  suit  up  aloft  there,"  says 
he,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  towards  the  hatch  over 
head.  "Maybe  you  could  squeeze  into  the  coat; 
and  the  pants,  too,  if  you  reef  the  bottoms  of  the 
legs.  Anyhow,  you  can  try." 

Applegate  grunted  out  a  "Thanks"  and  got 
up  off  the  chair.  Then  he  looked  at  the 
ladder. 

"Think  I'm  going  to  climb  that  thing?"  he 
wanted  to  know. 

Philander  was  lighting  a  hand  lamp.  He  climbed 
the  ladder  a  little  ways  and  set  the  lamp  on  the  floor 
of  the  loft.  The  Colonel  watched  him;  the  ladder 
shook  consider'ble. 

"Think  I'm  going  to  climb  that  thing?"  says  he, 
again. 

Philander  didn't  seem  to  understand. 

"What  thing?"  says  he.  "Oh,  that  ladder?  H'm, 
I  cal'late  you'll  have  to,  unless  you  figger  on  sleeping 
on  the  floor  all  night.  All  the  bunks  there  is  are 
up  there." 

"Sleep!  you  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  sleep  in 
this  hole  to-night.  I'll  put  on  dry  clothes  and  eat 

181 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

something,  and  then  you  can  sail  us  over  to  the 
sanitarium." 

Philander  shook  his  head. 

"I  wouldn't  sail  to  Wapatomac  to-night  for  no 
man,"  he  drawled.  "It's  a  long  stretch  and  a  dead 
beat  all  the  way.  My  catboat's  got  power  in  her, 
but  the  engine  ain't  working  good;  stops  every  now 
and  then,  so  I  can't  use  it.  No,  I'd  have  to  sail, 
and  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  There's  too  many 
shoals  to  risk  in  a  sailboat  in  the  dark.  To-morror 
morning — or  this  morning,  'cause  it's  to-morror  now 
— when  it's  daylight  and  after  I've  hauled  my  nets 
and  cleaned  my  fish,  I'll  take  you  across,  all 
right." 

"After  you've  cleaned Why,  confound  you, 

do  you  realize  I've  got  to  get  back?  Pratt,  for 
heaven's  sakes  tell  him!  There's  that  meeting  in 
Boston  Friday;  I  intend  leaving  on  the  noon  train 
to-morrow.  And  there  are  a  bushel  of  telegrams 
and  letters  waiting  to  be  answered  now.  Tell  him 
that." 

"Colonel  Applegate's  got  to  get  back,  Doane," 
says  I.  "It's  important." 

I  might  as  well  have  talked  to  a  graven  image, 
All  the  answer  I  got  was:  "Fish'll  spile  if  they 
ain't  cleaned  right  off." 

-n  your  fish !"  hollers  Applegate.    "I  must 
182 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 


be  at  Wapatomac  to-night.     I  ought  to  be  there 


now." 


"Can't  afford  to  spile  a  day's  catch.  Squiteagues 
running  pretty  fair  now,  and  I'm  likely  to  have  a 
good  haul.  Last  week  I  got  fifteen  dollars'  wuth 
one  day." 

"Maybe  the  Colonel'll  pay  you  fifteen  for  taking 
him  over,"  I  suggested.  'Twas  a  poor  suggestion 
just  then.  The  old  man's  temper  was  gone  and  all 
his  good  nature  with  it.  Besides,  he  always  prided 
himself  on  not  being  took  advantage  of — by  any 
body  except  flesh-reducers  like  Doctor  Wool. 

"I  will  not,"  he  snaps.  "Fifteen  dollars!  Why, 
you  robber,  I  can  hire  a  boat  and  man  all  day  for 
five." 

That  was  true,  he  could.  But  he  couldn't  hire 
that  hermit. 

"I  won't  risk  them  fish,"  was  all  Philander  would 
say. 

Applegate  growled  and  begged  and  ordered  and 
swore,  but  it  wa'n't  no  use.  At  last,  being  full  of 
shivers,  he  decided  to  risk  the  ladder  and  hunt  up 
the  Sunday  suit.  His  Lordship  and  I  held  the  thing 
steady  while  he  climbed  to  the  loft.  I  thought  sure 
the  ladder  would  break,  and  after  that  I  thought 
he'd  get  stuck  in  the  hatchway,  but  he  didn't;  he 
got  up  safe,  after  consider'ble  many  groans  and 

183 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

more   language,   and  we   could  hear   him  pawing 
around  after  the  duds. 

Philander  went  into  the  next  room,  which  was  just 
a  lean-to  hitched  on  to  the  end  of  the  shanty,  and 
came  back  with  a  salt  mackerel  that  dripped  brine 
like  a  rainstorm.  Then  he  put  the  coffee  pot  on 
the  stove  and  rummaged  out  a  loaf  of  dry  bread 
and  some  hardtack.  Next  he  put  the  mackerel  in  a 
fry-pan,  and  the  shanty  begun  to  smell  like  a  Banks 
boat  just  in  from  a  v'yage. 

Lord  James  watched  him,  mouth  open  and  eyes 
popping  out.  Philander  went  out  after  more  wood 
and  His  Lordship  tackled  me. 

"For  'eaven's  sakes,"  he  says,  p'inting  to  the  fry- 
pan,  "what's  that?" 

"That's  going  to  be  supper,  I  cal'late.  It  smells 
mighty  grateful  to  me." 

"Supper!  Supper  for  'im?"  He  jerked  his  head 
towards  the  loft. 

"I  guess  likely,"  says  I,  grinning. 

"But — but  'e  won't  eat  it.  'E  can't.  'E's  on 
strict  diet." 

"That's  so,  but  this  is  Philander's  diet,  not  his. 
If  you  asked  me  I  should  say  'twas  salt  mackerel 
and  hardtack  or  nothing." 

"My  word!"  says  Lord  James. 

When  Doane  came  in  I  got  him  to  one  side. 
184 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Say,"  says  I,  "if  you'll  take  us  over  to  Wapa- 
tomac  to-night  I'll  pay  you  fifteen  dollars  out  of  my 
own  pocket." 

I  forgot  I  was  standing  right  under  the  hatch. 
There  was  a  roar  from  the  loft  that  made  us  jump 
as  if  a  thunder  clap  had  gone  off. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Pratt.  You  mind 
your  own  business.  Here,  you,  whatever  your  name 
is,  help  me  down  this  condemned  ladder." 

Philander  never  even  looked  up.  "You  better 
help  yourself,  I  cal'late,"  he  drawled.  "I'm  busy." 

Well,  helping  that  fleshy  man  down  that  ladder 
was  worse  than  helping  him  up.  Hopper  and  I 
done  it  finally,  and  then  I  stepped  outdoors.  If 
I'd  stayed  in  I'd  have  laughed  sure,  and  that  would 
have  been  mighty  poor  judgment. 

That  Colonel  man  in  those  hermit  Sunday  clothes 
was  the  funniest  outrage  I'd  seen  since  I  quit  going 
to  sea.  How  he'd  ever  squeezed  into  them  pants 
I  don't  know.  The  coat  was  bad  enough — it  didn't 
come  within  a  fathom  of  buttoning  and  there  was  a 
wrinkle  from  yardarm  to  yardarm  in  the  back;  but 
them  pants!  Oh,  my!  Oh,  my!  They  was  too 

short  on  top  and  too  long  at  the  lower  ends,  and 

But  there !  I  better  stop,  I  shouldn't  wonder. 

"Kind  of  scant,  ain't  they?"  I  heard  Doane 
drawl.  "I  told  you  they  would  be." 

185: 


MR.    PRATTS    PATIENTS 

When  I  got  through  with  my  laugh,  and  had 
swabbed  the  tears  out  of  my  eyes,  I  went  in  again. 
Philander  was  just  putting  supper  on  the  table.  You 
ought  to  have  seen  Applegate  glare  at  it.  When 
he  found  'twas  all  he  was  going  to  get  to  eat  he 
fairly  b'iled  over.  But  bile  was  all  he  could  do. 
He  didn't  dast  to  touch  the  mackerel  or  the  coffee — 
the  memory  of  Sophrony's  sandwiches  and  dough 
nuts  was  too  fresh  in  his  mind,  I  guess — so  he  done 
the  best  he  could  on  dry  bread  and  hardtack.  Water 
he  drank  by  the  pailful.  After  the  third  flood  I 
put  in  my  oar. 

"See  here,  Colonel,"  says  I,  "I  wouldn't  overdo 
it.  Doctor  Wool  says  one  glass  of  cold  water  is  as 
bad  as  an  extry  pound  for  you." 

He  pretty  nigh  cried.  "Blast  you!"  he  roared, 
"would  you  take  bread  and  water  away  from  me? 
Why,  they  give  that  to  jailbirds." 

If  he  needed  water,  Lord  James  needed  it  more. 
'Cording  to  his  tell,  he'd  waited  on  the  British  no 
bility  a  good  deal  in  his  time,  and  they  don't  run 
strong  to  salt  mackerel,  I  judge.  He  was  so  hungry 
he  had  to  eat  it,  and  he  drowned  every  mouthful 
with  water.  The  pump  was  going  most  of  the  time. 

After  the  refreshments  was  served  I  helped  Phi 
lander  wash  dishes.  Afore  I  started  on  the  job 
Applegate  beckoned  to  me  to  come  out  of  the 

186 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

shanty.  I  done  it  and  he  put  his  mouth  close  to  my 
ear. 

"Pratt,"  he  says,  "you  can  sail  a  boat.  Let's  take 
that  one  there,"  pointing  in  the  direction  where 
Doane's  cat  lay  at  her  moorings,  "and  start  her 
home.  If  we're  quiet  we  can  get  a  good  start  be 
fore  that  long-legged  savage  knows  anything  about 
it." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Not  me,  Colonel,"  says  I.  "I  never  stole  no 
body's  boat  yet,  and  I  ain't  going  to  begin  this  late 
along." 

"But  it  ain't  stealing,"  he  whispered  again.  "You 
can  pay  him  for  borrowing  it  when  you  bring  it 
back.  I'll  send  the  money  by  you.  We'll  leave 
that — that  cockney  physical  director  behind,  as 
hostage." 

I  shook  my  head  again.  "No,"  says  I,  "I  won't, 
for  two  or  three  reasons.  He's  right  when  he  says 
there's  too  many  shoals  to  risk  sailing  over  in  the 
dark." 

"But  it's  a  power  boat;  he  said  so  himself.  You 
can  run  a  power  boat;  so  can  I,  for  that  matter." 

I'd  let  him  handle  the  Dora  Bassett  when  she  was 
under  gasoline  half  a  dozen  times,  and  it  had  made 
him  so  stuck  up  he  thought  he  was  admiral  of  a 
fleet.  I  didn't  have  nigh  the  confidence  in  his  navi- 

187 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

gation  that  he  did,  but  that  wa'n't  my  reason  for 
saying  no. 

"No  use,  Colonel,"  says  I;  "I  won't  steal  that 
boat — nor  borrow  it,  either,  that  way.  I've  tried 
'most  every  kind  of  salt-water  job,  but  I've  never 
been  a  pirate.  You  take  my  advice  and  offer  him 
fifteen  dollars  in  the  morning.  That  won't  be  but 
a  little  while  to  wait;  it's  one  now." 

Be  hanged  if  he  would!  It  was  a  holdup,  and  no 
living  man  could  hold  him  up. 

While  the  dish-washing  was  going  on  I  noticed 
that  he  and  Lord  James  were  mighty  confidential. 
I  didn't  pay  much  attention  at  the  time,  but  later  I 
did. 

About  a  quarter  to  two  he  made  proclamation 
that  he  was  going  to  bed.  Lord  James  said  he  be 
lieved  he'd  go,  too.  I  was  willing  to  turn  in  myself, 
but  Philander  said  there  wa'n't  but  two  bunks  in 
the  loft,  and  him  and  me  would  have  to  rig  up 
shakedowns  on  the  main  deck.  So,  after  the  two 
passengers  had  shinned  the  ladder,  we  commenced 
bed-making. 

I  happened  to  ask  that  hermit  what  'twas  he  was 
playing  when  we  first  drifted  abreast  of  the  point. 
I  asked  it  without  thinking;  I  ought  to  have  known 
better,  for  that  concertina,  so  it  seemed,  was  his 
hobby,  and  it  having  been  mentioned,  he  didn't  want 

188 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to  talk  about  nothing  else — nor  quit  talking  nuther. 

"She's  a  wonder,"  says  he,  getting  the  thing  out 
of  a  locker  in  the  wall.  "Fourteen  year  old,  and 
just  look  at  her." 

I  looked.  That  concertina  was  a  wonder  in  its 
way.  The  handles  that  was  on  it  first  had  wore 
out  long  ago,  and  he'd  made  new  ones  of  braided 
rope  yarn.  And  the  bellows  was  patched  in  more 
places  than  a  cranberry  picker's  overalls. 

"She's  a  wonder,"  he  says  again.  "You  ought 
to  hear  her  when  she  gets  going  good.  Kind  of 
wheezy  at  the  start,  afore  she  fetches  her  breath, 
but  after  that  there  ain't  nothing  can  stop  her. 
Here;  you  listen." 

I  had  to  listen,  'cause  he  wouldn't  let  me  do  any 
thing  else.  He  and  the  concertina  bust  loose  in 
"Sweet  By  and  By,"  and  I  give  you  my  word  it 
made  you  wish  you  was  there,  and  the  sooner  the 
quicker. 

"Now  she's  struck  her  gait,"  he  says,  vainglori 
ous.  "Ain't  she  going  some,  hey?" 

She  was.  There  came  a  perfect  howl  from  the 
loft,  Applegate's  voice  'twas. 

"What  kind  of  a  devilish  noise  is  that?"  roars 
the  Colonel.  "For  the  Lord  sakes,  cut  it  out! 
Shut  up!" 

Philander  shut  up.  It's  surprising,  but  he  did.  I 
189 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

cal'late  the  shock  of  anybody's  not  liking  that  con 
certina  kind  of  numbed  his  faculties.  He  acted  as 
if  he'd  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis,  and  him  and  I 
turned  in  without  another  word  scarcely.  I  wa'n't 
long  in  getting  to  sleep,  now  I  tell  you. 

And  I  wa'n't  long  sleeping  nuther.  What  woke 
me  up  was  the  Colonel,  just  tiptoeing  out  of  the 
door.  'Twas  gray  light  of  a  cloudy  morning.  I 
looked  around  for  Lord  James,  but  I  didn't  see 
him.  Philander  was  sound  asleep  on  the  floor  side 
of  me. 

"Hello,  Colonel,"  says  I;  "where  you  bound?" 

He  started  and  turned  his  head.  "S-sh!"  says 
he,  quick.  "Don't  make  such  a  racket.  Bound? 
I'm  bound  outside,  where  I  can  smell  something  be 
sides  fish." 

And  out  he  went.  Doane  turned  over  and 
wanted  to  know  what  was  up. 

"The  Colonel's  up,"  says  I.  "I  guess  likely  that's 
all." 

He  settled  himself  to  snooze  again,  and  I  tried  to, 
but  'twas  no  go.  I  got  to  wondering  what  that  fat 
man  had  turned  out  so  early  for.  Over  at  the  Rest 
shop  he  got  up  early,  but  then  'twas  'cause  he  had 
to.  Here  he  didn't. 

So  I  laid  there,  betwixt  sleeping  and  waking.  All 
at  once,  though,  I  was  wide  awake.  I'd  heard 

190 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

something;  it  came  from  outside  the  shanty,  and 
'twas  the  "chug-chug"  of  a  motor  engine. 

I  give  one  jump  from  the  shakedown  to  the  door. 
My  eyes  was  wide  open  enough  now,  and  they  saw 
a  sight. 

In  front  of  the  hermit's  shanty,  there  on  the 
point,  the  beach  curved  in  to  make  a  little  cove,  or 
harbor,  like.  Out  in  the  middle  of  this  cove  was  a 
catboat — Philander  Doane's  catboat — with  the  pro 
peller  churning  up  the  water  under  her  stern,  and 
two  men  aboard  of  her.  One  of  these  men  was  in 
the  bow,  hauling  up  anchor;  he  was  Lord  James. 
'Tother  was  aft  by  the  steering  wheel;  he  was  Colo 
nel  Applegate.  The  catboat  was  beginning  to  move. 

I  took  this  in  at  one  gulp  of  my  eyes,  as  you 
might  say.  Then  I  whizzed  out  of  that  door  like 
a  sky-rocket. 

"Hi!"  I  yelled.  "Hi,  Colonel  Applegate,  what 
are  you  doing  in  that  boat?  Where  are  you  going?" 

From  astern  of  me  in  the  shanty  I  heard  a  whoop 
from  Philander. 

"Boat?"  he  sung  out,  his  voice  jumping  high  and 
shrill.  "What  boat?" 

From  his  seat  by  the  helm  the  Colonel  waved 
his  hand,  serene  and  patronizing  and  calm. 

"It's  all  right,  Pratt,"  he  hollered.  "I  know  what 
I'm  about.  I'll  send  somebody  back  after  you  by 

191 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

and  by.  Just  now  I'm  going  to  see  that  I  catch  that 
noon  train  to  Boston.  All  right  with  that  anchor, 
are  you,  Hopper?" 

Afore  I  could  answer  something  bust  past  me. 
'Twas  Philander,  and  if  I've  said  he  moved  slow 
when  he  moved,  I'll  take  some  of  it  back.  He  wa'n't 
moving  that  way  now. 

"You — you "  he  screamed,  dancing  up  and 

down  at  the  edge  of  the  water.  "Come  out  of  that 
boat!  What  do  you  mean?" 

The  Colonel  grinned,  expansive. 

"You're  there,  are  you,"  he  hailed.  "Well,  you 
see  that  you  can't  rob  me,  don't  you.  I'll  pay  you 

five  dollars  for  the  use  of What!  What's 

the  matter?" 

The  matter  was  that  the  engine  had  stopped.  It 
give  a  cough  or  two  and  then  petered  out  alto 
gether.  Philander  had  said  'twa'n't  working  right, 
and  here  was  proof. 

Applegate  begun  to  swear.  Lord  James  yelled. 
Philander  yelled,  too,  but  there  was  a  reason  for 
his  yelling. 

"Keep  her  off!"  he  bellered.  "Keep  her  off! 
Look  where  you're  going!  There's  a  rock  there! 
Keep  her  of!  Put  your  helium  hard  down!  Oh, 
by  Judas,  there  you  go!" 

Ycu  see,  that  catboat  had  just  got  under  way 
192 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

enough  to  keep  moving  at  a  fair  clip,  even  though 
the  power  had  give  out.  Applegate  had  forgot  all 
about  steering,  and  was  bending  down  trying  to 
crank  up.  Consequently,  the  boat  went  sliding  along 
straight  ahead  for,  maybe,  thirty  feet.  Then  there 
was  a  bump  and  a  scrape  and  a  ripping,  grinding 
smash.  The  boat  stopped  with  a  jerk,  heeled  down 
to  port  and  begun  to  sink.  She  had  reason  to,  for 
there  was  a  two-foot  hole  in  her  bottom. 

"  'Elp  I"  screeched  Lord  James.  "We're  drowa- 
ing." 

It  looked  to  me  as  if  he  might  be  right  this  time. 
I  jumped  to  Philander's  dory  and  started  to  push 
her  off.  But  afore  I  could  much  more'n  start,  'twas 
all  over.  The  catboat  sunk  more  swift  and  then 
her  stern  went  under.  It  sunk  only  a  little 
ways,  hung  on  the  rock  that  had  knocked  the 
bottom  out  of  her,  and  then  capsized.  Apple- 
gate  and  His  Lordship  went  out  of  sight  in  a  lather 
of  foam. 

But  they  was  up  again  in  a  jiffy.  The  water  was 
only  to  their  shoulders.  The  first  thing  Hopper 
said  when  he  got  the  salt  out  of  his  mouth  was 
"  'Elp !"  but  he  said  it  fervent. 

I  was  still  shoving  at  the  dory.  Philander  jumped 
up  and  down  on  the  sand. 

4  'Elp !"  screams  Lord  James. 
193 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

11  'Elp!"  mocked  Philander  back  at  him.  "  'Elp 
yourself,  you  thundering  fool!  Wade  ashore!" 

Hopper  and  Applegate  begun  to  wade  toward 
the  nighest  dry  spot,  and  every  step  the  Doane  her 
mit  called  'em  a  different  name.  The  Colonel 
started  to  say  something,  but  he  was  shut  up  quick. 

"You — you  everlasting  old  fat  fool!"  screams 
Philander.  "You — you  sculpin  head.  Now  you've 
done  it,  ain't  you !  Want  to  go  to  Wapatomac  right 
•off,  hey?  Well,  you  won't!  Your  rotten  old  skiff's 
out  of  commission,  my  dory  leaks,  and  now,  by 
Judas,  you've  ruined  my  catboat.  Want  to  go  to 
Wapatomac?  Then  you  can  swim  there.  I'd  like 
nothing  better  than  to  see  you  try.  O-oh,  you  cussed 
fool!" 

I  didn't  interrupt  him.  Fact  is,  my  sentiments  and 
his  had  a  strong  family  likeness. 

If  I  should  undertake  to  tell  all  that  happened 
the  rest  of  that  day,  I'd  be  kept  busy.  And  yet  I 
can't  think  of  it  now  without  laughing.  If  ever  a 
man  had  the  conceit  took  out  of  him  'twas  Apple- 
gate.  It  didn't  come  back  nuther.  Philander  saw 
to  that.  He  bully-ragged  that  fleshy  Right  Liver 
something  terrible.  He  never  let  him  open  his 
head  scarcely.  No,  from  then  on  there  was  only 
one  skipper  of  that  hermit  shanty,  and  his  last  name 
begun  with  a  D. 

194 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

It  commenced  to  rain  and  thicken  up  pretty  soon, 
and  you  couldn't  see  more'n  a  hundred  yards  from 
shore  in  any  direction.  I  cooked  what  breakfast 
there  was;  the  hermit  said  he  wa'n't  going  to  get 
het  up  over  that  cookstove  fixing  grub  for  a  passel 
of  dum  fools.  There  was  nothing  in  the  shanty  that 
the  Colonel  could  eat,  and  he  done  the  best  he  could 
with  more  dry  bread  and  water;  seemed  to  be  thank 
ful  to  get  that.  He  put  in  the  heft  of  his  time  pacing 
up  and  down  the  shore  and  looking  out  into  the 
drizzle  for  a  boat  or  something  to  pick  him  up. 

I  thought  myself  that  we'd  be  picked  up  pretty 
soon.  I  knew  my  turning  up  missing  wouldn't  raise 
such  a  dreadful  row  at  the  sanitarium,  but  his  would. 
Not  only  Cape  Cod,  but  Boston  and  Providence 
and  the  stock  market  would  be  anxious  to  know  what 
had  become  of  him.  I  mentioned  it  to  him  once, 
trying  to  encourage  him,  but  he  only  waved  his 
hands  and  groaned. 

"It's  that  annual  meeting,  Pratt,"  he  said.  "If 
I'm  not  at  that  meeting  there'll  be  the  Old  Harry 
to  pay.  Why — why,  they'll  think  I've  skipped  out! 
The  papers'll  be  full  of  it.  Consolidated  Brick 
Common  will  drop  to  perdition." 

Yes,  I  was  sorry  for  him,  but  I  couldn't  do 
nothing  to  help.  Walking  home  was  out  of  the 
question;  there  was  five  miles  of  half-flooded  salt 

195 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

marsh  to  cross  afore  you  struck  solid  ground.  Our 
only  hope  was  they'd  send  out  searching  parties  in 
boats  and  they'd  locate  us.  If  the  weather  had  only 
been  clear! 

It  got  clear  along  about  eight  at  night.  By  that 
time  Applegate  had  about  give  up  hope  and  had 
turned  in.  Lord  James  had  turned  in  afore.  He 
and  the  hermit  had  had  a  high  old  rumpus  about 
the  Revolutionary  war,  or  some  such  foolishness.  I 
couldn't  make  out  just  what  'twas  about  or  who 
started  it,  but  I  heard  Philander  hollering  and  His 
Lordship  dropping  H's,  and  went  out  to  see  what 
was  the  trouble. 

"Don't  you  talk  to  me,"  Doane  was  saying. 
"Don't  you  dare  to  talk  to  me.  You  can't  come 
round  here  cal'lating  to  make  us  folks  slaves,  'cause 
we  won't  have  it.  We  don't  have  no  kings  and 
queens,  we  don't.  King!  by  Judas!  I  wouldn't  have 
a  king  on  my  premises  no  more'n  I  would  a — a 
tramp.  If  one  of  'em  come  lording  it  around  me, 
I'd — I'd  take  and  bang  him  over  the  head  with  a 
clam  hoe." 

Hopper  was  pretty  excited,  too,  but  more  dis 
gusted  than  anything  else. 

"King !"  says  he.  "A  King  around  this  awful  'ole ! 
My  word!  If  'Is  Majesty  could  only  see,  same  as 
me,  what  a  crowd  of  'orrible  blighters  there  is  in 

196 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

this  Gawd-forsaken  country,  Vd  be  thankful  we 
dropped  you  when  we  did.  Of  all  the  igno 
rant " 

"There!  there  I"  says  I,  nosing  in;  "cut  it  short. 
Send  it  to  the  Peace  Congress.  Come  on,  Doane; 
let's  you  and  me  see  what  we  can  do  with  that  cat- 
boat  of  yours." 

When  the  tide  rose  we  got  the  boat  off  the  rock 
and  in  on  the  beach.  Then  we  worked  over  her  to 
gether,  and  while  we  was  working  that  hermit 
asked  me  more'n  a  barrel  of  questions,  about  Nate 
Scudder  mainly,  when  I  was  going  to  break  his  neck, 
same  as  I  said  I  would.  Him  and  Scudder  had 
squabbled  over  a  bill  and  Philander  was  down  on 
him  and  Huldy  Ann  like  a  keg  of  nails  on  a  sore 
toe. 

That  evening,  when  the  other  two  had  gone  to 
bed,  he  got  out  his  concertina  and  tuned  up.  A 
day's  rest  hadn't  done  that  agony  box  any  good; 
'twas  worse'n  ever,  if  such  a  thing's  possible.  I 
never  heard  such  a  noise;  like  the  wailing  of  some 
thing  dying  and  dying  hard,  it  was.  But  he  fairly 
gloried  in  it. 

I  asked  him  who  learned  him  to  play.  I  had  to 
ask  something;  thought  maybe  he'd  stop  cruelizing 
"Rock  of  Ages"  long  enough  to  answer,  anyhow, 
and  I'd  have  that  much  recess. 

197 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Nobody  Tarned  me,"  says  he.  "It  come  to  me 
natural.  Seems  as  if  'twas  born  in  me,  as  you  might 
say." 

If  it  had  been  born  in  me,  I'd  have  took  ether  and 
had  it  out.  I  wished  I  could  take  some  right  then. 

"You  know  what  I  want?"  he  asks.  "What  do 
you  cal'late  I've  got  a  hankering  for?" 

"Land  knows!    A  shotgun,  maybe." 

"Shotgun?  How  you  talk!  What  made  you 
think  'twas  a  shotgun?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Maybe  I  got  your  longings 
and  my  own  mixed  up." 

"Well,  'twan't  a  shotgun.  I've  got  one  shotgun 
already." 

"All  right.  Don't  tell  me  where  you  keep  it, 
that's  all ;  I  don't  dast  to  know.  There !  There ! 
What  is  it  you're  hankering  for?" 

"A  violin,"  says  he,  "an  A  Number  One  violin." 

"A  fiddle." 

"No,  no,  a  violin.  A  fiddle's  easy  enough  to  get. 
I  want  a  real  violin,  same  as  Adeline  Patty  and  the 
rest  of  the  high-tuned  music  folks  you  read  about 
play  onto.  A  fiddle's  cheap;  but  a  good  violin  costs 
money,  they  tell  me.  I  sent  for  a  catalog,  and 
some  of  'em  was  high  as  a  hundred  dollars.  A 
hundred  dollars — Judas,  think  of  it!" 

198 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"You  wouldn't  know  how  to  play  one  if  you  had 
it,  would  you?" 

"I  could  Tarn.  I  bet  you  'twould  come  natural 
to  me,  same  as  the  concertina.  If  I  ever  get  one 
I'll  send  you  word  and  you  can  come  hear  me  play." 

"All  right;  be  sure  you  send  it — don't  fetch  it 
yourself.  Better  stick  a  special  delivery  stamp  on 
the  letter,  too.  If  ever  you  get  that  violin,  Philan 
der,  I  want  to  know  it  quick." 

'Twould  be  one  of  them  things  a  man  ought  to 
be  prepared  for,  'cording  to  my  notion. 

About  half  past  nine  I  took  a  good-bye  look  out 
over  the  water,  hoping  there  might  be  some  craft 
in  sight.  No  such  luck,  though;  so  I  turned  in  on 
my  shakedown.  Philander  said  he'd  be  in  pretty 
soon,  and  I  left  him  on  the  bench  outdoor. 

I  woke  up  about  an  hour  later.  I  heard  some 
thing,  just  as  I  had  that  morning,  and  'twas  the 
same  sound,  too — the  "chug-chug"  of  a  motor  boat. 

Thinks  I,  "They're  coming  at  last.  We'll  be 
able  to  get  away  from  that  concertina  now."  And 
outdoor  I  put,  dressed  mainly  in  nothing  particu 
lar. 

There  wa'n't  nobody  in  sight,  but  the  "chug- 
chug"  sounded  from  the  end  of  the  point  beyond 
the  pines.  I  run  barefoot  through  the  beach  grass 

199 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

and  over  the  pine  needles  until  I  got  'most  to  the 
shore  on  that  side.  And  there  I  met  Philander  com 
ing  back.  He  started  and  kind  of  jumped  when  he 
saw  me. 

"Doane!"  says  I,  "Doane!  Where's  that  boat? 
Quick!" 

He  took  an  awful  long  time  to  answer. 

"Boat?"  says  he.    "What  boat?" 

"That  motor  boat.  There's  one  around  here 
somewheres.  Don't  you  hear  her?" 

You  could  hear  her — yes,  and,  more'n  that,  you 
could  see  her,  too.  Her  light  was  a  good  ways  off 
shore  and  heading  away  from  us. 

"Oh,  that  boat?"  says  he.  "Yes,  I  did  hear  her. 
She  ain't  coming  this  way." 

Of  course  she  wa'n't,  and  'twa'n't  likely  she 
would  unless  we  done  something  to  make  her.  I 
yelled  and  hollered  "Boat  ahoy!"  and  the  like  of 
that,  till  I  couldn't  scarcely  speak.  No  use,  the 
boat  kept  going  away,  and  pretty  soon  her  light  was 
just  a  speck  in  the  distance. 

Philander  kept  fidgeting  back  of  me. 

"It's  too  bad,  ain't  it,"  says  he.  "She  can't  hear 
you,  I'm  afraid." 

"Course  she  can't  now.  But  she  might  have  heard 
you  if  you'd  hailed  afore  I  got  here.  When  did 
you  first  make  her  out?" 

200 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

Well,  he  didn't  know  exactly.  Fact  is,  he  wa'n't 

sure.  You  see,  he Well,  consarn  him,  he 

didn't  seem  to  be  sure  of  nothing.  I  never  see  a 
person  act  queerer.  I  couldn't  get  much  sense  out 
of  him  about  that  boat.  And  yet  he  seemed  to  be 
mighty  tickled  about  something;  so  absent-minded 
he  wouldn't  answer  my  question,  hardly. 

I  went  back  to  my  shakedown,  mad  and  disgusted 
enough.  And  suspicious,  too.  Yet  I  couldn't  lo 
cate  any  reasonableness  in  my  suspicions.  There 
was  no  reason  why,  if  that  boat — whoever  she  was 
— had  come  close  in  to  the  point,  he  shouldn't  have 
hailed  her  and  told  the  folks  aboard  about  us.  Yet 
I  couldn't  help  believing  she  had  come  close  in. 
'Twas  odd,  and  queer.  I  fell  asleep  wondering 
about  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

'f  |  "^WA'N'T  until  two  o'clock  the  follering 
afternoon  that  we  got  away  from  that 

-*-  point  and  that  shanty  and  that  hermit  and 
that  concertina.  Then  a  boat,  with  an  auxiliary, 
came  chugging  along.  When  she  was  nigher  in,  I 
see  she  was  the  Dora  Bassett,  and  she  certainly 
looked  good  to  me.  A  feller  from  Wapatomac  was 
running  her  and  Doctor  Wool  was  aboard;  so  was 
two  young  chaps,  reporters  from  Boston  papers. 

The  Doctor  looked  pretty  anxious  and  worried 
— for  him,  but  when  he  found  that  Applegate  was 
safe  and  sound  he  chirked  up  consider'ble.  The 
reporters  chirked  up,  too.  They  was  the  first  ones 
to  jump  ashore,  and  they  put  on  speed  for  the 
shanty.  Here  was  what  they  called  a  "scoop." 
They'd  located  the  missing  president  of  the  Consoli 
dated  Porcelain  Brick  Company,  and  for  a  day  and 
a  half  all  creation  had  been  divided  as  to  whether 
that  president  had  run  away,  on  account  of  the  com 
pany's  being  worse  than  bankrupt,  as  was  common 
talk,  or  was  dead,  which  would  be  pretty  nigh  as 
bad. 

But  if  they  was  glad  to  see  the  Colonel,  the  Colo- 
202 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

nel  was  gladder  still  to  see  them.  It  didn't  take  him 
nor  Lord  James  long  to  get  aboard,  now  I  tell  you. 
Philander  didn't  shed  any  tears  over  our  leaving, 
nuther,  but  he  got  one  surprise  all  right. 

The  Colonel  turned  to  him.  "Doane,"  says  he, 
"I've  called  you  a  robber  and  a  few  other  pet  names, 
haven't  I.  Well,  I'll  take  some  of  'em  back.  You 
tried  to  hold  me  up  for  a  big  price  when  I  wanted 

you  to  take  me  home  that  first  night,  but " 

'Twas  on  account  of  my  fish,  I  told  you,"  inter 
rupts  the  hermit.     "I " 

"There !  there  !  wait  till  I  get  through.  You  tried 
to  hold  me  up,  but  I  wouldn't  be  held.  I  don't 
blame  you  for  trying;  that's  business;  you  thought 
you  saw  your  opportunity  and  you  did  your  best  to 
take  advantage  of  it.  That's  all  right;  if  you  had 
had  some  easy  marks  to  deal  with,  you'd  have  won. 
You  lost  because  you  didn't  have  an  easy  mark. 
I'm  not  going  to  pay  you  for  that,  but  I  am  sorry 
about  that  boat  of  yours,  and — here,  take  this ;  per 
haps  it  will  pay  damages." 

He  handed  over  a  wad  of  bills.  Philander  looked 
at  the  one  on  top,  and  his  eyes  stuck  out. 

"My — my  Judas!"  says  he.  "Why — why,  this 
is  enough  to  buy  the  boat.  I  hadn't  ought  to  take 
this." 

Tke  Colonel  didn't  pay  no  attention;  just  turned 
203 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

and  stepped  aboard  the  leaky  dory.    Doane  turned 
to  me. 

"Why,  Sol,"  he  says,  "I— I " 

"Keep  it,"  says  I,  "and  say  nothing.  He's  got 
plenty  more." 

"Well,  I  swan!     If  I'd  known  he  was  going  to 
act  like  this  I  cal'late  I'd  have  done  different  last 
night.     But  when  that  young  feller  said     .     . 
Humph!    Well,  I  swan!" 

"What  young  feller?  Last  night?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Hey?    Oh,  nothing,  nothing." 

"Come  on,  Pratt,"  says  Doctor  Wool.  "Don't 
keep  us  waiting." 

On  the  way  home  the  Dora  Bassett  fairly  flew. 
She  couldn't  go  too  fast  to  suit  Applegate  or  those 
reporters.  Seems  there'd  been  the  Old  Harry  to 
pay  in  the  stock  market.  'Twas  the  general  feeling 
that  the  Colonel  had  skipped  and  that  affairs  in 
the  Brick  Company  was  a  good  sight  worse  than 
anybody  had  suspected.  The  stock  ha4  gone  down, 
down,  down.  It  had  "dropped  thirty  points,"  so  the 
reporters  said.  The  annual  meeting  had  been  post 
poned  until  night,  and  the  other  directors  had  given 
out  a  statement  that,  barring  the  president's  absence, 
everything  was  fine;  but  nobody  paid  any  attention 
to  it. 

204 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"But  why,"  roars  Applegate,  pounding  the 
weather  rail,  "should  you  think  I'd  skipped  out? 
Do  I  look  like  an  embezzler?  By  the  great  and 
everlasting,"  or  something  like  that,  "I'll  start  a 
few  libel  suits.  Somebody'll  pay  for  this." 

Doctor  Wool  purred  explanations.  Of  course,  he 
didn't  think  any  such  thing,  no,  indeed.  But,  as  the 
Colonel  was  aware,  the  papers  had  been  stirring  up 
rumors — no  doubt  utterly  false  and  malicious — con 
cerning  the  Brick  Company;  and  its  president's  un 
explained  absence,  just  at  this  time.  You  see — er — 
well 

"But  why  'skip  out'?"  shouted  Applegate.  "I 
might  have  been  dead  or  drowned.  By  George!  I 
came  near  enough  to  both.  Why  in  perdition  didn't 
you  give  me  the  benefit  of  the  doubt?" 

One  of  the  reporters  answered.  "It  was  that 
steam  yacht,  Colonel,"  he  said.  "There  was  a  steam 
yacht  lying  off  here  about  the  time  that  you — er — 
disappeared.  No  one  knew  who  she  belonged  to. 
Naturally,  when  it  was  found  that  she  had  gone, 
and  you  had  gone,  too Why — well,  the  coin 
cidence  attracted  attention." 

"But  how  about  me?"  I  wanted  to  know.  "And 
Lord  James — Hopper,  I  mean?  Did  they  think 
we'd  gone  steam-yachting?  Has  the  stock  market 
price  of  clams  dropped  any?" 

205 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

It  appeared  that  they  hadn't  thought  much  about 
us.  When  they  did  they  cal'lated  maybe  we'd  seen 
the  Colonel  clearing  out  and  he'd  taken  us  along  to 
keep  the  secret  safe.  'Twas  a  fool  notion,  the  whole 
of  it. 

"How'd  you  happen  to  come  cruising  after 
us,  then?"  I  asked.  "What  put  you  on  the 
track?" 

Wool  would  have  liked  to  take  the  credit  him 
self,  that  was  plain.  But  the  reporters  knew,  and 
so  he  couldn't. 

"Our  clever  young  friend,  Saunders,  is  responsi 
ble,"  purrs  the  Doctor.  "He  has  been  very  active 
in  your  behalf — er — Pratt.  Has  taken  quite  a  fancy 
to  you,  I  believe.  He  was  the  one  who  discovered 
that  your  skiff  was  missing.  Yesterday  he  endeav 
ored  to  persuade  us  to  send  out  searching  expedi 
tions  up  the  shore.  In  fact,  last  evening,  on  his 
own  responsibility,  he  went  out  alone  in  this  very 
boat  and  was  gone  for  hours.  I — er — chided  him 
for  it  when  he  returned.  In  his  state  of  health  it 
was  an  unjustifiable  risk." 

I  never  said  nothing.  But  I  was  thinking  hard. 
I  remembered  what  happened  on  the  point  last 
night;  likewise  I  remembered  how  queer  Philander 
had  acted  then  and  when  we  left  this  morning.  The 
more  I  thought  of  it  the  more  I  wanted  to.  I'd 

206 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

have  smelt  a  rat  sure,  if  I  could  raise  any  respectable 
reason  for  there  being  one  on  the  premises. 

The  minute  we  struck  the  sanitarium  the  Colonel 
sent  a  half  peck  of  telegrams  to  Boston.  Then  he 
set  to  work  hiring  a  special  train  to  take  him  up 
there.  'Twas  arranged  for,  finally,  and  he  hurried 
off.  Said  he'd  be  back  when  he  could,  probably 
early  the  following  week.  Doctor  Wool  went  with 
him  to  the  station;  the  Doc  was  purring  directions 
as  to  diet  and  right  thinking  when  they  drove  out 
of  the  yard. 

Eureka  was  glad  to  see  me  and  Lord  James,  es 
pecially  me.  I  judged  that  she  and  Miss  Emeline 
were  the  only  ones  at  the  Rest  shop  who  had  wasted 
much  worry  on  my  being  lost.  The  Doctor  was  too 
much  interested  in  Applegate,  and  the  cook  and 
Annabelle  were  feeling  sorry  about  Lord  James,  the 
"perfect  gentleman." 

"But  I  wa'n't  so  awful  worried,  Mr.  Pratt,"  Eu 
reka  said;  "I  knew  if  I  kept  thinking  right  'twould 
be  right  in  the  end." 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "but  'twas  getting  to  that  end 
troubled  me." 

"And  besides,"  she  says,  "I  knew  nothing  dread 
ful  had  happened — terrible  dreadful,  I  mean.  Your 
fortune  said  you'd  meet  trouble,  but  you'd  come  out 
fine." 

207 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  drawed  a  long  breath.  "That  fortune'll  be  the 
death  of  me  yet,  Eureka,"  I  told  her.  "If  I  fell 
into  the  hay  cutter  I  presume  likely  you  wouldn't 
fret;  you'd  know  I'd  come  out  'fine.'  " 

"Oh,  you  silly!"  says  she,  and  laughed.  Lord 
James  had  come  in,  and  he  heard  the  last  part  of 
this.  He  rubbed  his  chin. 

"Why  did  she  laugh?"  he  wanted  to  know.  "My 
word!  there's  nothing  funny  about  falling  into  the 
'ay  cutter." 

"Don't  you  see?"  says  Eureka,  trying  to  explain. 
"He  means  he'd  come  out  fine — chopped  fine.  He's 
joking,  as  usual." 

"But — but  that  wouldn't  be  a  joke;  that  would 
be  'orrible!  Chopped  in  a  'ay  cutter!  My 
word!" 

He  said  Americans  were  "blooming  red  Indians; 
they  'adn't  no  'uman  feelings  at  all."  We  didn't  try 
to  explain  any  more.  What  was  the  use? 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  I  tried  to  get  a  chance 
to  talk  to  Clayton  Saunders,  but  I  didn't  get  it.  He'd 
disappeared  now,  it  looked  like.  I  asked  Doctor 
Wool  where  he  was,  and  the  Doctor  didn't  seem 
to  know  much  more'n  I  did.  Clayton  had  gone 
away  and  left  a  note  saying  he'd  had  a  hurried 
business  call  that  might  detain  him  for  a  while, 
but  that  he'd  be  back  soon.  He  didn't  come 

208 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

back  that  night,  though.  I  grabbed  a  chance  when 
Miss  Hortense  Todd  was  away  from  her  ma's 
apron  strings,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  where 
Saunders  was. 

'Twas  a  simple  question,  but  it  had  an  astonish 
ing  effect.  She  kind  of  caught  her  breath  and,  it 
seemed  to  me,  turned  pale  under  the  tan  on  her 
pretty  face. 

"Why — why,  what  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Has — has Nothing  has  happened  to — to 

Mr.  Saunders,  has  it?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  says  I. 

"Then  why  did  you  ask  that  question?" 

"I  don't  know;  no  reason  special.  He's  gone 
somewheres  or  other,  so  the  Doctor  says,  and  I 
wondered  when  he  was  coming  home,  that's  all.  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  him." 

She  looked  at  me,  and  her  big  brown  eyes  looked 
as  if  they'd  look  me  through. 

"Then  you  had  no  real  reason  for  asking — me?" 
she  says,  slow. 

"No,  no  more'n  I've  told  you.  Do  you  know 
where  he's  gone?" 

The  color  was  all  back  in  her  cheeks  now.  She 
smiled. 

"Why  should  I  know  where  he  has  gone?"  she 
said,  and  walked  off.  If  I'd  been  a  betting  man  I'd 

209 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

have  risked  as  much  as  a  lead  quarter  that  she  did 
know,  just  the  same. 

Neither  young  Saunders  nor  Applegate  showed 
up  on  Saturday  or  Sunday.  The  Boston  newspapers 
was  full  of  the  doings  in  Consolidated  Brick  stock. 
Seems  that  when  no  news  of  the  missing  president 
arrived  on  the  morning  of  Friday,  the  day  of  the 
annual  meeting,  there  was  pretty  nigh  a  panic  in 
the  stock.  The  price  went  slumping  down,  five 
points  at  a  lick.  And  then,  just  after  the  exchange 
had  closed,  come  the  telegrams  saying  he  was  all 
right  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  meeting.  At  that 
meeting  the  company  voted  to  pay  its  regular  divi 
dend  and  give  out  a  statement  showing  that  its  af 
fairs  was  in  fine  shape.  Consequently,  when  the 
market  opened  on  Saturday,  Consolidated  Porcelain 
Brick  Common  was  hitched  to  a  balloon,  so  to  speak, 
and  went  up  faster  than  it  had  gone  down.  All 
hands  wanted  to  buy,  of  course,  and  such  a  hurrah 
you  never  saw.  At  twelve  o'clock,  when  the  broker 
works  shut  down,  the  price  of  a  share  was  higher 
than  it  had  ever  been  since  the  company  was 
formed. 

During  Monday  forenoon  one  little  thing  hap 
pened.  I  was  the  only  one  that  saw  it  happen,  and, 
if  I'd  told  that  I  saw  it,  the  other  things  that  hap 
pened  later  might  not  have  happened  at  all.  I  didn't 

210 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

tell;  'twas  none  of  my  business,  anyway,  and,  even 
if  it  had  been,  I  don't  know  as  I — but  there,  it 
wa'n't. 

I  was  cutting  grass  down  nigh  the  edge  of  the 
pines  at  the  back  of  the  sanitarium  grounds:  As  I 
finished  the  course  I  was  on  and  swung  my  lawn 
mower  about  on  the  back  tack,  I  noticed  a  cap  bob 
up  out  of  the  bushes  off  to  the  port  of  me,  and  a 
hand  wave  as  if  'twas  beckoning. 

Afore  I  could  much  more  than  wonder  who  'twas 
that  was  hid  in  them  bushes,  I  noticed  something 
else.  Off  to  the  starboard,  the  Right  Livers,  a  part 
of  'em,  was  taking  their  sand  baths.  Mrs.  Cor 
dova  Todd  was  planted  amongst  'em,  but  Miss  Hor- 
tense  wa'n't.  She  had  a  headache,  so  His  Lordship 
had  told  me;  and  was  laying  down  in  her  room. 
Which  might  have  been  all  straight  enough  at  the 
time,  only  now  she  wa'n't  laying  down,  for,  from 
where  I  was,  I  could  see  her  window.  'Twas  open 
and  she  was  looking  out  of  it  at  that  cap  and  hand 
in  the  bushes.  And  she  waved  her  own  hand  back. 

Thinks  I  to  myself,  "Sol,  you  never  made  a  mis 
take  yet  by  sticking  to  your  job.  Your  job  just  now 
is  cutting  grass." 

So  I  cut,  and  I  looked  every  way  but  at  them 
bushes  or  that  house.  Maybe  'twas  five  minutes 
later  or  perhaps  'twas  more,  but,  anyhow,  the  next 

211 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

time  I  turned  around  Miss  Hortense  was  coming 
out  of  those  very  bushes.  She  had  a  piece  of  white 
paper  in  her  hand.  She  looked  up  from  it  and  saw 
me  staring  in  her  direction.  That  paper  went  out 
of  sight  in  a  second.  I  kept  on  shoving  the  lawn 
mower. 

She  walked  over  towards  me. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Pratt,"  says  she.  She  was 
trying  awful  hard  to  keep  her  voice  steady,  but  it 
shook  just  a  little. 

"Oh,  good  morning,  Miss  Hortense,"  says  I, 
jumping  as  if  she'd  come  on  me  unexpected.  "Well, 
I'm  surprised  to  see  you  out  here  in  this  sunshine. 
Thought  you  was  on  the  sick  list." 

"My  head  is  much  better,  thank  you.  It's — it's  a 
beautiful  day,  isn't  it." 

I  said  'twas,  and  she  went  on  back  to  the  house. 
I  done  some  more  thinking.  I  wondered  who  that 
note  was  from  and  why  it  made  her  look  as  if  she'd 
been  washed  in  a  glory  bath,  as  you  might  say.  She 
acted  a  little  scared,  seemed  to  me,  and  yet  her  face 
was  fairly  shining.  She  was  sweet  enough  to  eat, 
Ah,  hum !  Right  Livers  wa'n't  the  only  ones  whose 
diet  was  limited;  being  an  antique  old  bach,  poorer'n 
Job's  cat's  grandchild,  has  its  drawbacks. 

Dinner,  or  lunch — you  called  it  one  thing  or 
t'other  according  to  your  bringing  up — was  put  on 

212 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

table  at  the  sanitarium  at  one  o'clock.  Eureka 
and  I  was  eating  ours  in  the  kitchen  when  Doctor 
Wool  come  running  out,  his  big,  round  face  blaz 
ing.  I'd  never  seen  him  excited  afore,  but  now  he 
was. 

"Pratt!  Pratt!"  he  snapped — no  purring  thit 
time;  "Pratt,  come!  I  want  you." 

He  actually  grabbed  me  by  the  coat  sleeve  and 
dragged  me  out  of  that  kitchen. 

"Come!"  he  orders;  "foller  me.  No,  stop.  You 
have  a  glass,  haven't  you?" 

"A  glass?"  says  I.     "Glass  of  what?" 

"A  spyglass — a  telescope.  Where  is  it?  Aboard 
your  boat?" 

I  stopped  to  think.  "Why,  no,"  says  I,  "  'tain't. 
It's  up  aloft  in  my  room.  I  fetched  it  there  so's 
to " 

"Get  it,"  he  ordered.    "Quick!" 

When  I  come  downstairs  with  the  spyglass  he 
grabbed  my  arm  again. 

"Come,"  he  said.    "Foller  me." 

I  follered  him,  across  the  lawn,  through  the  pines, 
and  down  to  the  knoll  overlooking  the  beach  abreast 
of  which  the  Dora  Bassett  was  moored.  There,  all 
ashake  with  excitement,  and  looking  anything  except 
an  invalid,  was  Mrs.  Evangeline  Cordova  Todd. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  wanted  to  know. 
213 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  hurry?  They  will  be  out  of 
sight  in  a  minute.  Hurry!" 

Doctor  Wool  done  his  best  to  be  his  own  smooth, 
serene  self,  but  even  his  best  wa'n't  very  good  just 
then.  He  snatched  the  spyglass  from  under  my 
arm,  pulled  out  the  joints,  and  put  it  to  his  eye.  I 
looked  where  he  was  pointing  it.  Away  out  on 
the  water  and  moving  toler'ble  fast  was  a  boat,  a 
power  boat;  I  could  just  hear  her  engine  cough. 

The  Doctor  looked  and  looked.  Mrs.  Todd  was 
fidgeting  all  over. 

"Is  it?"  she  says.  "Is  it?  I  know  it  is.  Don't 
waste  so  much  time !  Hurry!  Is  it?" 

Wool  lowered  the  glass.  "I  think  so,"  says  he. 

"My  eyes  are  not  used  to Here,  Pratt;  look 

through  this  glass  and  tell  us  who  is  in  that  boat 
off  there." 

I  give  one  look.  My  eyes  are  pretty  good,  and 
they  was  used  to  the  glass. 

"Why,"  says  I,  "I  swan  if  it  ain't  Miss  Hortensel 
Your  daughter,  ma'am." 

"Who  is  with  her?"  She  and  the  Doctor  both 
asked  it  at  once. 

"It  looks  to  me,"  I  says,  "as  if Yes,  'tis. 

It's  young  Saunders.  Humph!  That's  surprising. 
Thought  he'd  gone  away." 

I  didn't  have  a  chance  to  say  any  more.  Mrs. 
214 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Evangeline  Cordova  was  ploughing  through  the 
sand  for  the  shore.  Doctor  Wool  yanked  me  after 
her. 

"Your  boat,"  he  says.  "The — the  Bassett,  or 

whatever  her  name  is Is  she  ready  to  start  at 

once?" 

"Why — why,  yes.     I  cal'late  she  is.     But  what 


"Then  start  her.  Put  me  aboard  at  once  and 
start.  We  must  catch  that  other  boat.  Hurry  up." 

Well,  I  was  consider'ble  flustered;  couldn't  make 
head  nor  tail  of  the  business,  but  I  hurried  fast  as 
I  could  down  to  the  shore.  My  skiff  was  there.  I'd 
gone  over  to  Philander's  shanty  on  Sunday,  mended 
her  bottom  with  new  boards  and  pitch  and  paint  and 
rags,  and  towed  her  home. 

The  Doc  was  aboard  of  her  afore  I  was. 

"Get  in,"  says  he,  "and  shove  off  quick." 

But  Marm  Todd  had  a  word  to  say. 

"Wait,"  she  orders.     "Wait.     I'm  not  in  yet." 

"But,  madam,  you  are  not  going.  It  is  not  neces 
sary,  believe  me.  I  can " 

"Going!  Of  course  I'm  going!  Do  you  suppose 
I  shall  stay  here  when  my  daughter  is  eloping  with 
a  pauper?  You — Pratt — help  me  into  that  boat." 

She  didn't  need  much  help.  She  got  in,  same  as 
a  hippopotamus  might  have  got  into  a  bathtub,  and 

215 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

she  took  up  pretty  nigh  as  much  room.  I  had  no 
light  job  shoving  that  skiff  off,  and,  after  'twas  off, 
I  had  another  to  find  a  place  to  set  and  row.  How 
ever,  we  made  the  Dora  Bassett,  more  by  good  luck 
than  anything  else,  and  Doctor  Lysander  and  I 
dumped  that  Evangeline  over  the  rail  like  a  bag 
of  potatoes.  Then  we  got  in  and  I  started  up  the 
engine.  Down  inside  me  I  was  hoping  she  wouldn't 
start,  but  she  did;  never  worked  better  since  I 
owned  her;  that's  the  contrariness  of  things  in 
this  world. 

"Now,"  orders  the  Doctor,  "catch  that  boat. 
Catch  it,  do  you  hear." 

I  give  you  my  word  I  didn't  want  to  catch  it. 
What  Mrs.  Todd  had  said  had  give  me  an  idee  of 
what  was  happening.  Them  two  young  folks  had 
made  up  their  minds  to  be  human  and  sensible  and 
get  married,  same  as  people  that  care  for  each  other 
ought  to.  I  found  out  afterward  that  it  had  been 
planned  afore  Clayton  left  the  sanitarium  to  go  on 
that  mysterious  business  errand  of  his.  The  note 
which  that  boy  in  the  bushes  brought  to  Hortense 
was  just  the  final  clincher,  that  was  all. 

I  didn't  want  to  catch  'em,  and  I  did  hope  they'd 
get  clear;  but  Doctor  Wool  was  my  boss;  he  paid 
my  wages,  and,  as  long  as  he  was  skipper,  'twas  up 
to  me  to  obey  orders.  So  I  set  the  Dora  Bassett' s 

216 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

nose  on  the  stern  of  that  other  launch  and  we  hiked 
along  at  a  fast  clip. 

'Twa'n't  a  silent  v'yage,  by  a  consider'ble  sight. 
I  never  see  a  madder  woman  than  that  Todd  speci 
men.  She  kept  clinching  her  fists  and  unclinching 
'em,  and  her  mouth  above  her  double  chin  was  set 
tight  as  a  crack  in  a  locked  door.  But  what  came 
out  through  the  crack  was  all  pepper,  I  tell  you. 

"The  hussy!"  she  breathed.  "The  ungrateful, 
wicked  hussy!  After  all  I've  done  for  her,  and  the 
care  I've  taken  that  she  should  meet  only  eligible 

men — men  of  position  and  money.  And  now 

Oh,  but  there !  I  might  have  expected  it.  Last  sum 
mer  at  Florence  she  might  have  married  a  Count, 
a  real  Count,  if  she  had  had  sense.  He  was  com 
pletely  infatuated  with  her;  she  might  have  had  a 
title  by  merely  turning  her  hand.  But  no,  she 
wouldn't  listen  to  me.  Persisted  in  going  her  own 

gait.  Said  he  was  too  old!  Old!  And  now 

She  is  just  like  her  father,  for  all  the  world  He 
was  a  perfect  fool  in  practical  matters." 

The  late  Todd  was  lucky  to  be  late,  'cording  to 
my  way  of  thinking.  I  could  see  what  had  made 
him  late  so  early. 

She  swung  around  on  the  Doctor  and  handed  him 
some  of  the  seasoning. 

"You  are  to  blame  for  this,"  says  she.  "Didn't 
217 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

you  tell  me  that  this  ridiculous  sanitarium  of  yours 
was  absolutely  free  from — from  creatures  like  that 
Saunders?  Didn't  you  promise  to  keep  an  eye  on 
my  daughter  and  notify  me  if  you  noticed  the  least 
hint  of  anything  wrong?  Oh!  Oh!  If  this  is  not 
prevented — if  we  don't  get  to  land  before  that  boat 
does,  you  shall  pay  for  it.  I'll  give  your  sanitarium 
one  advertisement  that  it  won't  get  over.  I  have 
some  influence  with  society,  thank  heaven,  even  if 
I  have  none  with  my  own  child." 

Lysander  the  Great  wa'n't  nigh  so  great  just  then. 
He  tried  to  explain  that  it  wa'n't  his  fault,  he'd 
done  his  best,  and  so  on,  but  the  explanations  didn't 
count  for  much. 

"How  about  that  note  of  yours  which  I  hold?" 
she  wanted  to  know.  "The  money  you  talked  me 
into  advancing  you?  You  want  that  note  indorsed, 
I  believe.  You " 

"Hush,  hush,  Mrs.  Todd,  please,"  begged  Wool. 
"This  is  not  the  time  to— 

"I  shall  not  hush.  Either  you  will  make  this — 
this  Pratt  catch  that  boat,  or  you  and  I  will  have 
a  financial  settlement  as  well  as  the  other  sort." 

I  was  picking  up  information  fast.  I  cal'late  Ly 
sander  thought  so,  too,  for  he  began  to  pitch  into 
me  for  not  hurrying. 

"I'm  doing  the  best  I  can,"  I  answered,  short. 
218 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Talk  like  that  won't  help,  and" — I  put  some  em 
phasis  right  here — "it  may  do  the  other  thing." 

"But  will  you  catch  that  other  boat?" 

"Yes,  I  presume  likely  I  will.  We're  gaining  on 
her  all  the  time." 

We  were,  too;  worse  luck!  The  other  craft  was 
the  Lily  and  belonged  to  Samuel  Snow  over  to  Wa- 
patomac.  Sam  made  his  brags  about  her  speed,  but 
she  wa'n't  in  it  with  the  Dora  Bassett.  We  was 
overhauling  her  slow  but  sure.  If,  as  it  looked, 
Clayton  was  bound  across  the  bay,  we'd  lay  him 
aboard  sartin,  long  afore  he  made  port. 

On  we  went.  It  got  so  we  could  see  the  pair  of 
'elopers  without  the  glass.  Clayton  was  at  the  helm 
and  poor  Miss  Hortense  was  huddled  up  alongside 
of  him.  I  did  pity  her.  I  hoped  Saunders  would 
have  the  spunk  to  hang  onto  her  in  spite  of  her 
ma. 

All  at  once  the  Lily  turned  from  the  course  she'd 
been  making  and  set  off  at  right  angles. 

"They've  turned,  haven't  they?"  asked  Wool. 
"Yes,  they  have  turned.  They're  not  going  the  same 
way.  Why?" 

"Well,"  says  I,  and  sorrowful,  too,  I  shouldn't 
wonder,  "I  cal'late  he  realizes  we're  overhauling 
him  and  he's  going  to  try  to  land  at  Bayport  or 
thereabouts." 

219 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Don't  you  let  him,"  orders  Mrs.  Todd.  "Don't 
you  dare  let  him.  You  follow  him,  do  you 
hear?" 

I  never  wanted  to  mutiny  more  in  all  my  life.  But, 
during  that  life,  I  never  had  mutinied.  I  swung 
off  on  the  new  course  myself.  And  we  kept  on  over 
hauling  the  Lily. 

This  course  brought  the  shore  closer  all  the  rime. 
We  got  in  so  we  could  see  the  Bayport  church 
steeple  and  the  buildings  on  the  beach.  In  we  went, 
further  and  further.  We  could  see  Clayton  and  his 
girl  plain  now.  She  was  crying  on  his  shoulder. 

"We  shall  do  it,"  says  Wool,  a  trace  of  the  purr 
coming  back  as  his  satisfaction  grew.  "We  shall 
do  it,  madam.  I  told  you  to  trust  in  me." 

Mrs.  Todd  actually  smiled;  but  it  was  a  mighty 
ugly  smile. 

"I  do  believe  we  shall,"  she  said.     "And  when  I 

J      >5 

We  got  in  amongst  the  flats  and  channels.  At 
high  tide  they're  all  right;  at  any  other  time  they're 
mighty  bad  navigating  and  the  tide  was  on  the  ebb 
now. 

The  Lily  swung  in  to  the  deepest  channel.  I  set 
the  helm  over  and  started  to  foller,  best  I  could. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  snapped  Mrs.  Todd, 
quick  as  a  wink.  "You  are  going  out  of  your  way." 

220 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"  'Tain't  safe  to  go  across  there,"  I  answered, 
sullen. 

"But  their  boat  went  across." 

"She  don't  draw  within  six  inches  of  what  we  do, 
ma'am." 

"Nonsense!  If  you  go  across  there  you  can  head 
them  off.  Why,  you  are  going  way  around.  You 
are  going  back.  Stop!  Stop  it,  I  tell  you!" 

I  was  going  back,  in  a  manner  of  speaking.  The 
flat  ahead,  between  us  and  the  Lily,  was  shoaling 
fast.  I  knew  I'd  got  to  go  around  the  end  of  it.  I 
didn't  answer;  kept  on  as  I  was. 

"Stop  it !'  fairly  shrieked  that  everlasting  woman. 
"Stop,  do  you  hear!  Doctor  Wool,  make  him 
go  straight  ahead.  They  are  getting  away  from 
us." 

"Pratt,"  says  Wool,  "I  think  you  are  over-cau 
tious.  Why  not  do  as  the  lady  wishes?" 

"Because  'twould  be  a  fool  thing  to  do.  They  got 
over  all  right,  but  we  can't.  And " 

"Are  you  going  to  sit  there  and  let  him  spoil 
everything?  Make  him  go  straight  ahead,  why 
don't  you?  Doctor  Wool,  if  my  daughter  gets  off 
with  that  man  I  will — I  will  ruin  you ;  I  will,  I  swear 
it." 

Wool  was  fidgeting  and  getting  red  and  white  by 
turns. 

221 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Can't  you  see  what  is  the  matter?"  sung  out  the 
Todd  critter.  "He's  doing  it  on  purpose.  He  never 
meant  to  catch  them ;  I  saw  it  in  his  eye  when  he  first 
started.  He's  been  paid  to  let  them  get  away. 
Bribed!  that's  what  it  is — bribed!" 

Nobody  had  ever  accused  me  of  taking  money 
that  way  afore.  I  was  so  mad  I  could  hardly  hold 
the  wheel  steady.  I  needed  only  one  thing  and  that 
the  Doc  provided. 

"Pratt,"  says  he,  "I  must  say  your  conduct  is  sus 
picious.  Do  as  I  tell  you;  f oiler  that  boat." 

I  looked  at  him.  "Do  I  understand,"  I  says,  de 
liberate,  "that  you  order  me  to  go  across  that  flat?" 

"I  order  you  to  foller  that  other  boat.  Where 
it  can  go,  you  can." 

"Of  course  he  can,  if  he  wants  to.  He's  been 
bribed,  I  tell  you.  He  was  in  it  from  the  first." 

For  a  second  I  hesitated.  Then  I  shoved  the 
helm  over. 

"Orders  are  orders,"  says  I,  and  I  never  said 
anything  more  resigned  and  happy.  "You  take  the 
responsibility,  I  don't." 

And  I  headed  straight  across  that  flat.  Now  we 
gained,  I  tell  you.  Clayton  was  follering  his  chan 
nel,  but  we  was  cutting  acrost  lots.  Only  a  hundred 
yards  between  us  and  the  Lily.  We  could  hear 
Saunders  telling  that  poor  Todd  girl  not  to  cry. 

222 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

Doctor  Wool  grinned.  Mrs.  Todd  leaned  over 
the  rail. 

"Hortense,"  she  screamed,  "I  order  you  to  leave 
that  person  at  once  and  come  here  to  me." 

'Twould  have  been  a  damp  trip  if  Miss  Hortense 
had  tried  it,  but  she  didn't  try.  The  Lily  kept  on 
and  so  did  we,  but  we  gained  and  gained. 

I  looked  over  our  bow.  The  sand  on  the  bottom 
was  shining  in  the  sunshine.  The  foam  we  was  mak 
ing  was  all  riled  up  from  the  suction. 

"She's  shoaling  fast,  Doctor,"  says  I.  "If  you 
take  my  advice  you'll " 

"Be  still,"  snaps  Mrs.  Todd. 

"Be  quiet,  Pratt,"  orders  Wool. 

I  obeyed  orders.  I  kept  still  and  I  kept  quiet,  but 
now  'twas  me  that  begun  to  grin. 

Half  a  minute  more.  Then  there  was  a  bump. 
The  Dora  Bassett  shook  from  stem  to  stern.  An 
other  bump;  then  a  long,  soft,  scrapy  noise.  She 
stopped  short.  I  looked  over  the  side.  We  was 
hard  and  fast  aground. 

"What — what?"  sputtered  Wool. 

"Go  on!     Go  on!"  ordered  the  Todd  woman. 

I  leaned  back  against  the  stern  rail. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  says  I.  "I'm  obliged  to  tell  you 
that  we  can't  go  on.  We're  hard  and  fast  on  this 
flat  and  here  we'll  stay  till  the  tide  goes  out  and 

223 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

comes  in  again.  I  warned  you,  remember.  'Tain't 
my  fault.  Doctor  Wool  ordered  me  to  go  ahead 
and  I  minded  what  he  said.  That's  what  he  pays 
me  for.  Hey,  Doc?" 

The  Lily  was  going  ahead,  lickity-cut.  All  at 
once,  though,  she  swung  around  and  came  back  a 
little  ways.  Clayton  Saunders  realized  what  had 
happened  to  us  and  figgered  'twas  his  chance  to  say 
something.  He  brought  his  boat  up  into  the  wind 
and  hailed  us. 

"Mrs.  Todd,"  says  he,  "your  daughter  and  I 
made  up  our  minds  to  be  married  some  time  ago. 
You  could  not  have  prevented  it,  no  matter  what 
you  had  done.  We  shall  visit  the  minister  here  in 
Bayport  and  then  take  the  train  for  the  city.  I 
think  you  are  perfectly  safe  where  you  are.  There 
is  no  danger,  is  there,  Pratt?" 

"Not  a  mite,"  says  I,  cheerful.  "All  we've  got 
to  do  is  to  wait  seven  or  eight  hours  for  the  tide. 
We're  safe  enough." 

"Mother,"  says  Miss  Hortense,  "I  am  sorry  it 
had  to  be  this  way,  but  there  was  no  other.  Clayton 
and  I  will  write  you  when  we  get  to  Boston.  I  shall 
be  very  happy;  you  must  console  yourself  with  that." 

Mrs.  Evangeline  Cordova  didn't  look  as  if  she 
hankered  for  consolation.  She  fairly  choked,  she 
was  so  mad. 

224 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"By  the  way,  Pratt,"  says  Saunders,  "when  you 
see  Colonel  Applegate,  tell  him  that  I  have  devel 
oped  the  business  sense.  I  came  down  to  that  point, 
where  you  and  Hopper  and  he  were  playing  Rob 
inson  Crusoe,  on  Thursday  night  in  your  boat  there. 
That  chap  who  was  your  host — a  peculiar  genius, 
isn't  he — told  me  that  you  were  safe  and  sound 
and  then  it  occurred  to  me  here  was  one  of  the  Colo 
nel's  'opportunities.'  Consolidated  Porcelain  Brick 
Common  had  fallen  off  tremendously  in  price  owing 
to  the  rumor  that  its  president  had  decamped.  I 
wired  my  brokers  to  buy,  buy  on  a  margin  and  buy 
a  lot.  I  sold  out  to-day.  I  am  worth  much  more 
than  thirty  thousand  now.  I  paid  Doane — I  think 
that  was  his  name — not  to  tell  any  of  you  that  my 
boat  had  called  that  night.  Good-by.  Good-by, 
Doctor  Wool.  Good-by,  Mrs.  Todd." 

"Good-by,  mother,"  called  Miss  Hortense. 
"Don't  worry." 

The  Lily  swung  around  and  started  full  speed  for 
Bayport.  Mrs.  Todd  and  Doc  Lysander  glared  at 
each  other.  I,  thinking  of  Colonel  Applegate  and 
what  he'd  say  when  he  found  out  that  he  might  have 
been  took  off  that  point  twelve  hours  sooner  than 
he  was,  grinned  expansive. 

But  I  was  the  only  grinner  aboard  the  Dora  Bas- 
sett  the  rest  of  that  day. 

225 


CHAPTER  X 

WE  got  off  that  flat  enough  sight  quicker 
than  we  had  any  right  to  expect,  that 
is,  Doctor  Wool  and  Mrs.  Todd  did. 
About  an  hour  and  a  half  later,  and  some  time 
after  the  up-train  for  Boston  had  whistled  at 
the  Bayport  depot,  a  feller  come  meandering 
down  to  the  beach,  got  into  a  dory  and  pulled 
and  poled  out  our  way.  Seems  young  Saun- 
ders  had  sent  him,  and  a  message  along  with  him. 
The  message  was  just  a  short  note:  'Twas  from 
Miss  Hortense,  only  she  wa'n't  Miss  Hortense  any 
longer.  It  said  that  she  and  Clayton  were  mar 
ried  and  were  on  their  way  to  the  train.  "Mother, 
dear,"  must  forgive  her  for  what  she  had  done. 
It  was  all  for  the  best,  "and  some  day,  Mother, 
dear,  you  will  realize  it."  She  would  write  again 
that  night  and  tell  her  ma  where  to  come  to  meet 
her  and  her  husband. 

Maybe  Mrs.  Evangeline  Cordova  would  realize 
'twas  for  the  best  some  day,  as  the  note  said,  but 
the  some  day  wa'n't  that  day,  by  a  good  deal.  Doc- 

226 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

tor  Wool  done  his  best  to  purr  her  into  some  sort 
of  a  civilized  state,  but  he  had  his  hands  full. 
She  was  more  down  on  him  than  she  was  on  any 
body  else,  and  they  went  off  together  in  that  dory, 
he  arguing  and  she  with  her  nose  in  the  air.  I  told 
the  feller  who'd  come  to  take  us  off  that  I'd  stay 
where  I  was  till  the  tide  was  high  enough  to  float 
my  boat.  I  wa'n't  going  to  leave  the  old  Dora, 
of  course. 

'Twas  half-past  nine  at  night  afore  I  got  clear  and 
under  way,  and  'twas  'most  eleven  when  I  got  back 
to  the  Rest  shop.  Eureka  said  there'd  been  all  kinds 
of  a  time  while  I'd  been  gone.  Doctor  Wool  and 
Mrs.  Todd  drove  home  from  Bayport  in  a  hired  rig, 
and  the  old  lady  was  talking  when  she  came  into  the 
yard  and  hadn't  stopped,  scurcely,  since.  She 
wouldn't  come  down  to  supper,  though  Doctor  Ly- 
sander  had  plead  with  her,  through  the  door  of 
her  room,  for  ever  so  long. 

"She's  awful  down  on  him,"  says  Eureka.  "I 
never  saw  anybody  so  down  as  she  is  on  him.  Keeps 
saying  it's  all  his  fault  and  she'll  make  him  pay  for 
it.  How  was  it  his  fault,  Mr.  Pratt?" 

"Don't  know,"  says  I. 

"No,  and  I  guess  likely  she  don't,  either.  Cross- 
grained  thing!  I  never  could  bear  her." 

I  didn't  say  nothing  about  the  "note"  that  Marm 
227 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Todd  had  flung  at  Wool's  head  in  the  boat.  'TwaVt 
none  of  my  affairs,  anyhow,  though  the  news  was 
interesting  and  opened  up  all  sorts  of  chances  to 
guess.  This  much  I  was  sartin  of:  I'd  ruther  owe 
'most  anybody  money  than  that  Todd  woman. 

The  next  morning  she  left  Sea  Breeze  Bluff  Sani 
tarium  bag  and  baggage.  She'd  had  a  telegram 
from  Hortense  and  Clayton  and  was  going  to  where 
they  was,  I  cal'late,  though  she  wouldn't  give  in  she 
was  bound  there.  I  drove  her  over  to  the  depot 
and  she  was  mum  as  a  clam  all  the  way. 

At  that  depot  who  should  we  meet  but  Apple- 
gate.  He'd  just  arrived  from  Boston. 

"See  here,  Colonel,"  says  I,  "I've  got  a  message 
for  you."  And  I  give  him  Clayton  Saunders's  part 
ing  remarks. 

First  he  swore,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"The  young  scamp !"  he  says.  "I'd  like  to  wring 
his  neck.  Keeping  me  starving  to  death  on  bread 
and  water  when  he  might  have  taken  me  home.  So 
he  wanted  you  to  tell  me  he'd  been  developing  busi 
ness  sense,  did  he?  Ha,  ha!  the  young  robber  I" 

"How  much  do  you  suppose  he  made  out  of  keep 
ing  you  there?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  know.  By  Jove!  now  that  I  think  of  it, 
perhaps  I  do  know  a  little,  though.  A  broker  friend 
of  mine  told  me  that  a  customer  of  his,  a  young 

228 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

chap,  he  said,  must  have  had  some  sort  of  a  tip  on 
the  situation,  for  he  cleaned  up  over  seventy  thou 
sand  by  buying  heavy  on  Friday.  I  wonder — I  be 
lieve  it  was  Saunders  he  meant." 

"Good  land!"  says  I.  "Seventy  thousand  in  a 
day.  That  ain't  a  bad  job,  is  it?  Say,  Colonel, 
you  was  his  opportunity  that  time,  wa'n't  you?  Why 
don't  you  tell  Mrs.  Todd  how  much  her  new  son- 
in-law  is  worth?  It  might  comfort  her  some;  she 
needs  comfort." 

It  did  comfort  her,  too;  you  could  see  it.  She 
said  her  daughter  was  an  ungrateful,  undutiful  girl 
and  the  Saunders  person  was  a  "beast."  But  she 
asked  twice  afore  she  got  aboard  the  cars  if  the 
Colonel  was  sartin  'twas  seventy  thousand  the  beast 
had  made. 

She  went  away  and  I  ain't  seen  her  since.  And 
her  leaving  that  sanitarium  was  the  beginning  of  a 
regular  exodus,  so  Miss  Emeline  said,  though  what 
she  meant  I  ain't  sure ;  I  always  thought  an  Exodus 
was  some  person  in  Scripture.  If  it  means  a  gen 
eral  clearing  out  of  all  hands,  she  was  right,  for 
no  less  than  six  Right  Livers  left  that  Rest  shop 
that  week,  and  some  more  the  next. 

Clayton  and  Hortense  and  Marm  Todd  went, 
of  course,  and  Greenbaum  quit  on  Saturday.  The 
Colonel  quit,  too,  and  so  did  three  other  patients. 

229 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Didn't  seem  to  be  no  'special  reason  for  their  going; 
just  decided  to  go,  and  went,  that's  all. 

I  was  sorry  to  say  good-by  to  Applegate.  He 
and  I  had  got  on  well  together,  and  though  he'd 
called  me  a  pile  of  names  when  his  prunes  and  such 
quarreled  with  his  digestion,  he  never  meant  noth 
ing  by  it.  I  asked  why  he'd  decided  to  give  up  his 
"treatment." 

"You're  thinner'n  you  was,  Colonel,"  says  I,  "but 
you're  a  long  ways  on  the  weather  side  of  being  a 
dime  show  skeleton  even  yet." 

He  laughed.  "I  know  it,"  says  he,  "but  I'm 
tired  of  being  a  mark.  I  have  been  one  for 
some  time,  and  now  that  I  know  it,  I'm  going 
to  quit." 

"Know?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  says  he.  "Pratt,  how  much  do- 
you  know  about  the  past  history  of  our  old  friend 
Wool  here?" 

"Why,  nothing  much,"  says  I,  trying  to  guess 
what  he  was  driving  at.  "I  don't  know  much  of 
anything.  He's  had  a  lot  of  experience  curing  folks, 
that's  about  all  I  know.  And  Miss  Adams  thinks 
he's  a  wonder." 

"She  does,  that's  a  fact.  But  I  wonder  if  she 
.  .  .  However,  that's  not  my  funeral.  Only  I  tell 
you  this,  Pratt,  for  your  own  good:  I  wouldn't 

230 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

bank  too  much  on  your  job  here  being  a  permanent 
one.  Good-by." 

I  thought  he  might  have  thanked  me  for  all  the 
favors  I'd  done  for  him,  but  he  didn't.  The  only 
other  thing  he  said  to  me  was  just  as  he  was  climb 
ing  into  the  wagon  with  the  Doctor. 

"You'll  hear  from  me  before  long,  Pratt,"  he 
says. 

I  wondered  what  he  meant  by  my  job  not  being 
permanent.  And  I  wondered,  too,  what  there  was 
about  Doctor  Wool's  "past  history."  Anyhow,  I 
began  to  believe  that,  whatever  it  was,  he'd  dropped 
a  flea  in  the  ears  of  Greenbaum  and  the  rest  and 
that  the  said  flea  was  responsible  for  their  clearing 
out  so  sudden. 

'Twas  plain  enough  that  Wool  didn't  like  the 
"exodus."  He  never  said  nothing,  of  course,  and 
went  on  his  grand,  purry,  imposing  way  same  as 
usual.  He  made  proclamations — for  Miss  Erne- 
line's  benefit  mainly,  I  judged — that  the  departing 
ones  was  cured  and  well  and  he'd  told  'em  to  go. 
But  I  didn't  believe  it  and  even  Eureka  was  sus 
picious. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that,  though  he  kept  putting 
advertisements  in  the  papers,  no  new  victims  came 
to  take  the  places  of  them  that  had  gone.  That, 
looked  queer  to  me;  seemed  almost  as  if  somebody 

231 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

was  quietly  putting  the  kibosh  on  that  sanitarium. 

It  was  lonesome  around  the  place  now.  Miss 
Emeline  and  Professor  Quill  was  the  only  Right 
Livers  left.  There  was  more  hired  help  than  there 
was  folks  to  wait  on.  If  it  had  been  my  shebang 
I'd  have  discharged  somebody,  so  as  to  save  ex 
penses,  but  the  nighest  that  happened  to  that  was 
when  Annabelle,  the  waiter  girl  and  chambermaid, 
left  of  her  own  accord  to  marry  the  grocer's  cart 
driver,  and  Wool  didn't  hire  no  one  in  her  place. 
Even  Lord  James  Hopper  was  kept,  though  he  had 
scurcely  anything  to  do.  He  didn't  complain;  land, 
no!  that  suited  him  first  rate;  but  if  I'd  been  he,  I'd 
have  made  believe  be  busy,  for  safety's  sake. 

I  thought  Eureka  had  forgotten  all  about  that 
lost  wife  of  his,  the  Swede  one,  the  "  'ummer"  that 
he  and  the  cherry  bounce  had  talked  about  the  night 
of  his  making  port  at  Sea  Breeze  Bluff.  But  it 
turned  out  she  hadn't,  not  by  a  consider'ble  sight. 
One  night  I  found  her  in  the  kitchen,  busy  writing 
something  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

"How  do  you  spell  'communicate,'  Mr.  Pratt?" 
says  she.  "With  two  m's  or  one?" 

"I  don't,  unless  I'm  drove  to  it,"  I  told  her. 
"Then  I  take  a  chance  on  two.  Why?  What  do 
you  want  to  spell  it  for?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  says  she,  and  that  was  all  I  could 
232 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

get  out  of  her.  But,  later  on,  when  she'd  gone  out, 
I  picked  up  that  piece  of  paper  from  the  floor 
where  she'd  dropped  it,  having  made  a  blot.  What 
was  wrote  on  that  blotted  piece  read  like  this: 

"Information  wanted  of  the  whereabouts  of  Mrs. 
Christina  Hopper,  who  lost  her  husband  in  the 
New  York  depot.  She  is  a  Swede  woman  and  can 
not  talk  good  English.  Her  husband  is  James  Hop 
per,  an  Englishman.  Communicate  at  once  with 
E.  H.  Sparrow,  Wapatomac,  Mass." 

"For  mercy  sakes!"  I  said  to  myself.  "Has  that 
girl  been  advertising  for  His  Lordship's  wife?  This 
looks  like  it." 

And,  when  I  taxed  her  with  it,  she  owned  up.  She 
had  been  putting  advertisements  in  Boston  and  New 
York  papers  and  paying  for  'em  out  of  her  own 
pocket.  She  was  dreadful  fussed  to  think  I'd  found 
it  out. 

"But,  Eureka,"  says  I,  "it's  the  most  foolish 
thing  ever  I  heard  of.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't 
believe  Lord  James  ever  had  a  wife.  'Twas  just 
talk,  all  that  was." 

"Talk!  Why  should  he  talk  that  way?  What 
made  him  talk?" 

"Well,  when  a  man  who  ain't  ate  anything  for 
as  long  as  he  had  takes  to  pouring  down " 

233 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Solomon  Pratt,  I'm  ashamed  of  you!  I  don't 
believe  you've  got  any  heart." 

She  had  one,  and  'twas  big  enough  to  take  in  all 
outdoors.  I  did  feel  ashamed  of  myself,  though  I 
hadn't  any  reason  in  the  world  to  feel  so.  I  tried 
to  tell  her  that,  if  she  was  set  on  putting  in  them 
ads,  she  better  let  me  pay  for  half  of  'em;  but  'twas 
no  go. 

"No,"  says  she,  her  eyes  snapping.  "I  want  to 
do  it  all  myself.  Then,  if  she  is  found,  I  shall  feel 
so  proud;  just  the  way  Evelyn,  in  the  Home  Com 
forter  story,  felt  when  she  brought  back  her  lover's 
old  sweetheart  to  him.  She  sacrificed  herself  to 
do  it,  but  'twas  noble  and  she  didn't  care." 

What  could  a  body  say  in  answer  to  that  kind 
of  tomfoolishness? 

"But  you  ain't  sacrificing  nothing,  Eureka,"  I  man 
aged  to  put  in.  "You  ain't  in  love  with  Lord  James, 
are  you?" 

"Of  course  not!  if  I  fall  in  love  with  anybody, 
I  should  hope  'twouldn't  be  a  married  man.  No, 
I'm  not  sacrificing  anything,  but  I'm  just  crazy  to 
bring  those  two  together  again." 

"Well,  all  right,"  says  I,  giving  up.  "I'll  own 
up  that  you're  just  crazy,  if  that'll  satisfy  you.  But 
do  tell  me  this:  Does  Hopper  know  you're  adver 
tising  for  his  'ummer?" 

234 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Of  course  he  don't!  And  don't  you  breathe  a 
word  to  him.  I  want  it  to  be  a  surprise — if  there  is 
any  it." 

I  changed  the  subject.  "Have  you  seen  the  Pro 
fessor  to-day?"  I  asked  her. 

She  looked  at  me.  The  same  queer  look  was  in 
her  eyes  and  mine,  I  guess. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "I've  seen  him,  but  only  at 
meal  times,  that's  all." 

"Humph!  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  then  my 
self.  Been  up  in  that  room  of  his  all  day,  same  as 
usual,  has  he?" 

She  nodded.  "I  guess  he  has,"  she  says.  "And 
the  door's  always  locked.  What  do  you  suppose  he 
does  up  there,  Mr.  Pratt?" 

"I  don't  know.  It's  a  curious  thing,  that  is.  Does 
Lysander — does  Doctor  Wool  keep  you  and  the 
cook  away  from  the  hall  that  room  opens  off  of, 
same  as  he  does  me?" 

"Yup.  He  found  me  there  yesterday  and  he 
drove  me  out  quick,  I  tell  you.  Told  me  not  to 
come  nigh  there  again.  Mr.  Pratt,  Professor  Quill 
is  doing  something  in  that  room;  he's  making 
something  that  he  and  the  Doctor  don't  want 
anybody  else  to  know  about.  I'm  sure  of  it. 
Did  you  smell  anything  when  you  was  up  in  that 
hall?" 

235 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

I  had,  but  this  was  the  first  I  knew  that  she'd 
smelled  it,  too. 

"Like  rubber  burning,  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  that's  it  exactly.  Smelled  as  if  somebody'd 
left  their  overshoes  on  top  of  the  stove  to  dry,  and 
then  had  forgot  'em." 

"Perhaps  that's  it.  The  Professor's  absent- 
minded  enough  to  leave  his  head  on  a  hot  stove, 
fur's  that  goes." 

"Nonsense !  there's  no  stove  in  that  room." 

Well,  'twas  a  queer  business  and  it  had  been  go 
ing  on  now  for  a  fortni't.  First  along  the  Profes 
sor  stayed  in  that  room  only  part  of  the  mornings 
and  took  his  exercise  and  his  sand  bath  with  the 
rest  of  the  Livers.  But  now,  when  he  was  one  of 
the  only  two  Livers  left,  and  you'd  think  he'd  natu 
rally  get  more  attention  and  petting  from  Wool,  he 
didn't  take  any,  hardly;  stayed  up  in  that  third- 
story  room  all  the  time,  and  sometimes  even 
had  his  prunes  and  eggs  and  raw  steak  sent  up 
to  him.  And  when  they  was  sent  up  'twas  the 
Doctor  himself  took  'em;  no  one  else  ever  got 
that  job. 

Naturally,  of  course,  all  hands  was  curious  to 
know  what  it  meant.  I  asked  Lord  James  if  he 
knew.  He  swelled  up  with  importance. 

"It's  a  secret,"  says  he.  "Nobody's  supposed  to 
236 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

know  it,  but  the  'ead  told  me,  in  confidence  like. 
The  'ead  trusts  me,  of  course,  and  'e  told  me  'e 
knew  I  could  keep  a  secret.  My  word!  if  you  only 
knew  'alf  of  the  secrets  I've  been  trusted  with  in 
my  time!" 

"Sure,"  says  I,  drawing  him  out;  "sartin!  Don't 
doubt  it  a  mite,  Hopper.  But  this  ain't  so  much  of 
a  secret  as  you  think  'tis.  You  ain't  the  only  one 
that's  trusted.  I  know  about  what  Professor  Quill's 
doing,  myself." 

"Did  the  'ead  tell  you?"  he  asked,  eager. 

"Oh,  that's  telling.  I  can  keep  things  to  myself 
when  it's  necessary." 

"But  did  he  tell  you  about  the  special  exercises 
and  all?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  giving  it  away." 

"No,  no.  But  did  'e  tell  you  all?  I  'ave  my 
doubts  if  'e  did.  'E  trusts  me,  the  'ead  does.  Why, 
'e  told  me  the  whole  thing;  'ow  the  Professor  was 
taking  special  exercises  for  putting  on  weight,  and 
'ow  'e  'ad  to  do  it  alone  in  that  room.  Oh,  'e  told 
me  all  about  it.  It's  a  new  treatment;  a  bit  of  an 
experiment,  I  mean  to  say;  and  until  it's  established 
as  a  success  no  one  ain't  to  know  it.  The  'ead  'as 
charge  of  it,  'imself.  'E  didn't  tell  you  as  much 
as  that,  /  know." 

"No,"  says  I,  "he  didn't.     I'll  have  to  give  in 

237 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

that  he  didn't  tell  me  as  much  as  that.     I  don't  be 
lieve  he's  told  anyone  that  but  you,  Hopper." 

"Of  course  not.  'E  knows  who  to  trust,  the  'ead 
does." 

I  didn't  say  no  more,  but  I  grinned  when  I  got 
away  by  myself.  Lysander  the  Great  was  a  wise 
old  wizard,  he  was.  He  knew  better  than  to  fill  me 
up  with  any  such  yarn  as  that,  but  he  wanted  the 
impression  to  get  around  that  the  Professor's  being 
in  that  room  was  on  account  of  "special  exercising" 
and  so  he  breathed  the  news  into  Lord  James's  ear 
as  a  "secret." 

Special  exercise,  hey!  Well,  it  must  be  a  hot  old 
exercise  that  makes  the  patient  smell  like  a  burnt 
rubber  boot. 

And  if  the  idee  was  to  put  flesh  on  poor  Quill's 
bones  it  wa'n't  a  success  so  fur.  The  poor  critter 
looked  thinner  and  more  worried  and  tired  every 
day.  We  hardly  saw  him  at  all;  that  is,  Eureka 
and  I  didn't.  And  even  Miss  Emeline  saw  him  only 
by  fits  and  starts.  She  was  troubled  about  it,  that 
was  plain.  One  afternoon,  down  on  the  beach, 
when  we  was  alone,  she  whispered  her  troubles  to 
me. 

"I'm  afraid  Professor  Quill  is  overtaxing  his 
brain,"  she  says.  "He  looks  tired;  don't  you  think 
he  does,  Solomon?" 

238 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

She  was  the  only  one  on  the  premises  that  ever 
called  me  by  the  whole  of  my  for'ard  name.  "Solo 
mon"  had  a  nice,  dignified,  old-family,  orthodox 
sound  to  it  that  kind  of  pleased  her,  I  cal'late. 

''Don't  you  think  Professor  Quill  looks  tired, 
Solomon?"  she  asked  again. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  I. 

"Don't  you  think  he's  overtaxing  his  brain?" 

"Don't  know,  ma'am.  He  looks  as  if  he  was 
taxed  about  all  he  could  stand,  I  must  say.  There 
ain't  such  a  lot  of  him  to  tax,  if  you  assessed  him 
by  the  square  foot." 

She  never  paid  any  attention  to  the  last  part  of 
this.  The  "don't  know"  was  all  she  understood,  I 
presume  likely. 

"You  do  think  he  is  overtaxing  his  brain;  I  can 
see  that  you  do.  So  do  I.  Of  course  you  know 
what  he  is  doing  up  there  in  his  room?" 

I  mumbled  something  or  other. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  really  know,"  she  says.  "It 
is  a  secret,  but  I  feel  that  I  can  trust  you,  and  I  do 
want  to  discuss  it  with  some  one.  He  is  at  work 
on  a  new  system  of  mathematics  for  use  in  his  col 
lege  curriculum.  You  know  what  a  curriculum  is, 
Solomon." 

If  she  thought  I  did  there  wa'n't  any  use  con 
tradicting  her.  Besides,  if  I  said  anything  about 

239 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  thing  I  might  get  out  of  soundings.  I  kept  still 
and  tried  to  look  as  all  knowing  as  my  namesake 
in  Scriptur'. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on,  "it  is  a  new  system  of  mathe 
matics.  A  wonderful  system  that  he  is  perfecting 
all  by  himself.  But  I  do  wish  it  did  not  take  up 
so  much  of  his  time  and  energy.  I  am  worried 
about  him." 

She  looked  as  if  she  was. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  I.  "Did  he — did  the  Profes 
sor  tell  you  about  his — about  this  curry — cur- 
ry " 

I'd  forgot  it  already.  All  I  could  think  of  was 
"curry-comb."  But  she  didn't  notice. 

"No,"  she  says.  "Of  course  I  don't  mention  the 
subject  to  him,  or  he  to  me.  Doctor  Wool  told  me 
not  to.  It  was  the  Doctor  who  told  me  of  the  sys 
tem." 

I  nodded.  I  expected  that.  The  Doctor  was  tell 
ing  a  whole  lot  these  days. 

"He  said — Doctor  Wool,  I  mean — that  Profes 
sor  Quill  had  this  on  his  mind  when  he  came  here 
and  was  so  unhappy  in  idleness  that  the  Doctor 
believed  it  best  for  him  to  continue  to  work  at  it. 
Here  he  could  work  by  himself  and  under  the  Doc 
tor's  guidance  as  to  diet  and  exercise.  Doctor  Wool 
is  humoring  him  by  permitting  him  to  do  it  in  se- 

240 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

cret;  it  helps  him  to  think  right.  And  as  we  think, 
so  we  are,  you  know,  Solomon." 

I  knew,  or  I'd  ought  to  have  known  by  this  time, 
having  had  the  doctrine  preached  to  me  times 
enough.  "Think  right!"  Well,  it  looked  as  if  our 
old  chum  Wool  was  strong  on  thinking  right  and 
talking  any  way  he  pleased.  Here  was  two  "se 
crets"  he'd  started  going  and  neither  one  of  'em 
was  the  real  one,  'cording  to  my  notion. 

Miss  Emeline  hove  a  long  sigh. 

"I  mustn't  be  selfish,"  she  said.  "I  miss  the  Pro 
fessor's  society,  of  course.  He  and  I  were  very 
congenial — old  friends,  you  know — and  I  miss  his 
companionship.  However,  it  will  be  all  right  soon, 
I'm  sure.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  he  has  avoid 
ed But  there !  I  am  permitting  myself  to  be 
come  nervous  and  foolish.  I  have  other  anxieties 
and  they.  .  .  .  What  am  I  talking  about?  We'll 
think  right,  won't  we,  Solomon?  Ah!  here  comes 
Doctor  Wool  himself.  Now  we  shall  get  back  into 
the  proper  uplifting  atmosphere." 

We  did.  That  is,  I  presume  likely  we  did.  The 
Doctor  came  parading  down  to  us,  his  big  face 
shining,  his  smile  working  overtime,  and  the  whole 
of  him  sticking  up  out  of  that  desolation  of  sand 
and  pines  like  a  white-washed  meeting-house  back  of 
a  run-down  cemetery.  He  was  a  wonder  to  look 

241 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

at,  and  to  hear;  and  yet  I  was — well,  I  was  getting 
hardened,  I'm  afraid.  I  didn't  experience  religion 
every  time  he  got  into  the  pulpit.  Down  in  my 
hold  was  a  doubt,  a  doubt  that  kept  growing,  like  a 
toadstool  in  a  dark  cowshed. 

Two  things  I  felt  fairly  sure  of:  One  was  that 
Miss  Emeline  was  right  when  she  started  to  say 
that  Professor  Jonathan  Quill  avoided  her.  T'other 
was  a  downright  sartinty  that  he  didn't  like  that 
avoiding  any  better'n  she  did. 

And  now  I've  worked  up  to  what  was  the  most 
astonishing  happening  of  all  that  lit  on  me  while  I 
was  at  that  Rest  shop.  It's  so  astonishing,  so  ever 
lasting  ridiculous  and  unbelievable,  that  I  swan  to 
man  I  hate  to  tell  about  it.  Yet  I've  got  to,  I'm 
going  to,  and  you  and  me  can  argue  as  to  whether 
Ananias  and  Saphiry  or  me  was  the  biggest  liars 
as  much  as  you  please. 

It  happened  about  a  week  after  I  had  this  talk 
with  Miss  Emeline.  And  it  bust  loose  in  the  kitch 
en  and  on  Eureka  and  me,  just  as  most  of  the  sur 
prises  had  bust.  We  was  together  there,  Lord 
James  having  gone  to  his  room  to  read  a  passel  of 
English  newspapers  that  Clayton  Saunders  had  sent 
him  from  Boston.  Clayton  used  to  get  a  lot  of  fun 
out  of  His  Lordship's  ingrowing  Britishness  and  he 
sent  these  papers  with  a  note  saying  they  might 

242 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

freshen  up  Mr.  Hopper's  acquaintance  with  the  no 
bility  and  gentry,  something  that  was  too  precious 
to  lose.  Olivia,  the  cook,  had  gone  to  her  cousin's 
in  the  village.  Eureka  and  I  were  alone,  as  I  said, 
and  it  was  just  a  quarter-past  eight.  I  know,  be 
cause  I  looked  at  the  clock  when  the  knock  came 
at  the  back  door. 

I  answered  that  knock,  wondering  who  the  knock 
er  could  be.  I  though  it  might  be  Annabelle,  the 
ex-chambermaid,  come  to  spend  the  evening,  maybe. 
But  it  wa'n't;  it  was  a  man,  and  no  man  I'd  ever 
seen  afore,  I  was  sartin.  Men  that  I  knew  around 
Wapatomac  didn't  wear  high,  shiny  plug  hats,  nor 
yeller  spring  overcoats,  nor  carry  canes  with  ivory 
heads  as  big  as  a  catboat's  anchor,  as  you  might 
say. 

"Good  evening,"  says  the  feller,  brisk  and  polite. 
He  had  a  big,  hearty  voice,  and  was  big  and  husky 
and  fleshy  all  over,  and  when  he  moved  the  hand 
that  held  the  cane  I  noticed  there  was  a  yeller  kid 
glove  on  it. 

"Good  evening,"  said  I.  My  fust  notion  had 
been  that  he  might  be  a  peddler  or  a  book  agent. 
Yet  he  didn't  look  like  either  one  of  them  nuisances. 

"Good  evening,"  says  he  again.  And  then,  kind 
of  hesitating:  "Does — does  a  party — a  lady,  I 
mean,  by  the  name  of  Adams  live  here?" 

243 


MR.   PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"Miss  Emeline  Adams,  do  you  mean?"  says  I. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  my  saying  the  name  sort  of 
staggered  him;  and  he  didn't  look  like  a  chap  that 
was  easy  staggered,  nuther. 

"Er-er Yes,"  says  he.  "Does  she  live 

here?" 

"She  does.    Yes." 

He  fetched  a  long  breath.  "Is  she  in?"  he 
wanted  to  know. 

"Why,  yes,"  says  I,  doubtful.  "She's  in,  but " 

Afore  I  could  say  any  more  he  pushed  past  me 
and  walked  into  the  kitchen.  Eureka  had  been 
standing  inside  the  door,  listening,  and  he  pretty 
nigh  bumped  into  her.  He  started  back  and  stared 
at  her  with  all  his  eyes. 

"This — you — this  ain't  her,  is  it?"  he  sung  out. 
"No.  No,  course  it  ain't." 

"Ain't  who?"  says  Eureka,  about  as  much  sur 
prised  as  I  was  to  see  him  act  so. 

"This  is  Miss  Sparrow,"  says  I.  "She's  the 
housekeeper." 

Him  and  Eureka  siook  hands.  She  was  looking 
him  over  from  head  to  foot,  yeller  overcoat  and 
tall  hat  and  cane  and  all.  I  could  see  her  eyes 
begin  to  stick  out.  This  feller,  whoever  he  might 
be,  was  her  idee  of  the  real  thing,  that  was  plain. 
She  said  afterwards  that  she  thought  for  a  minute 

244 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

that  Earl  Somebody-or-other  in  the  Home  Com 
forter  had  come  to  life  and  come  visiting. 

He  stared  at  her  hard,  and  rather  approving,  too, 
I  thought. 

"Excuse  my  glove,"  says  he,  polite  as  a  dancing 
teacher. 

Eureka  colored  up,  red  as  a  peach  in  August. 
She  was  real  pretty  when  she  got  that  way. 

"Won't — won't  you  set — I  mean  sit  down,  sir?" 
says  she. 

"He  wants  to  see  Miss  Emeline,"  I  put  in,  by 
way  of  explanation. 

"Oh,"  says  Eureka,  trying  not  to  look  disap 
pointed;  I  do  believe  she'd  been  hoping  he'd  come 
to  see  her.  "Well,  Miss  Emeline  is  in  her  room. 
I  don't  know  as  she  has  gone  to  bed — I  mean  re 
tired — yet,  but  it  is  pretty  late." 

The  feller  pulled  out  a  gold  watch  as  big  and 
expensive  and  shiny  as  the  rest  of  him,  by  com 
parison  of  course,  and  looked  at  it. 

"Late!"  he  says.  "Why,  Good  G — gracious!  it 
ain't  half-past  eight  yet.  Does  she  go  to  bed  with 
the  chickens?" 

"No,  not  exactly,  but  she  goes  awful  early.  She's 
under  treatment,  you  know." 

"Treatment?" 

"Why,  yes.  This  is  Sea  Breeze  Bluff  Sanitarium 
245 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

for  Right  Living  and  Rest.    Didn't  you  know  that?" 

He  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  says,  "I  remember  now 
they  told  me  'twas  something  like  that.  I  should 
think  there'd  be  rest  enough,  from  the  looks  of  the 
place  outside.  But  see  here,  is  Em — is  Miss  Adams 
sick?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  she  is  invalided — not  strong, 
you  know.  Er — if  you'll  wait  here,  I'll  go  and  see 
if  she  is  up." 

He  stopped  her.  "No,  no,"  says  he,  quick. 

"Don't  do  it  yet.  I — I Let  me  talk  to  you 

two  a  little  first.  That  will  be  all  right,  Mister — 
Mister " 

"Pratt,  Solomon  Pratt,"  I  told  him.  "Better  set 
down,  hadn't  you?  I  can  most  generally  talk  better 
that  way,  myself." 

He  acted  awful  nervous  for  such  a  big,  fleshy, 
sun-burned  man.  He  threw  back  the  yeller  over 
coat  and  I  could  see  that  the  suit  underneath  was  a 
check,  and  not  a  quiet,  soothing-syrup  kind  of  a 
check  nuther.  But  it  fitted  him  fine  and  must  have 
cost  a  heap  of  money.  Then  he  laid  his  cane  on 
the  floor  and  begun  to  peel  off  the  kid  gloves.  There 
was  a  diamond  ring  on  his  finger  that  flared  lik^ 
Minot's  light  in  Boston  Harbor. 

"Won't  you  take  off  your  hat,  sir?"  says  Eureka. 

"Hey?  Good  Lord,  I  forgot  it!  I'm  a  regular 
246 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

kid  to-night — or  an  old  woman,  I  ain't  sure  which. 
And  no  wonder,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  Ex 
cuse  me,  Miss,  for  keeping  my  hat  on  all  this  time. 
I  know  better." 

He  laid  the  hat  on  the  floor  side  of  the  cane. 
Eureka  grabbed  it  up  as  if  'twas  solid  gold  and 
laid  it  reverent  on  the  table.  His  head,  in  the 
lamplight,  was  balder  than  Doctor  Wool's.  All 
it  needed  was  gilding  to  be  a  Boston  State  House 
dome. 

He  pulled  up  a  chair  and  set  down.  I  set  down, 
too.  Eureka  didn't;  she  just  stood  and  looked  at 
him. 

"Are  you  the  new  minister?"  she  says. 

They'd  hired  a  new  parson  at  the  Orthodox 
church  in  the  village  and  we'd  been  expecting  him 
to  call;  so,  maybe,  the  question  was  natural  enough. 
But  if  you'd  kicked  the  chair  this  feller  sat  in  he 
couldn't  have  got  out  of  it  quicker. 

"Minister!"  says  he.  "Minister!"  Then  he 
looked  himself  over.  "Say,  girl,"  he  says,  "what's 
the  matter  with  me?  Is  my  rigging  snarled  or  has 
that  fool  tailor  made  a  mistake?  A  parson!  You'll 
be  taking  me  for  a  missionary  next." 

We  didn't  neither  of  us  know  what  to  make  of 
that.  I  begun  to  suspicion  the  feller  was  a  lunatic. 
And  yet  he  looked  rational  enough. 

247 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  guess  he  see  we  was  puzzled,  for  he  set  down 
again,  and  says  he: 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  my  language,  Miss.  I 
don't  mean  nothing  by  it.  Parsons  up  here  may  be 
all  right,  but  I've  had  experience  with  the  foreign 
breed,  and  when  you  asked  if  I  was  one  I  blew  up 
a  little.  Sit  down,  sit  down.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about — about  this  Miss  Adams.  How  is  she?" 

"Are  you  a  relation  of  hers?"  asked  Eureka. 

"Why,  not  a  relation  of  hers,  exactly — no.  I'm 
a  friend — that  is,  I'm  a  friend  of  a  friend  of  hers. 
She  lived  in  New  Bedford  one  time  and — and  this 
friend  of  mine  knew  her  there." 

Eureka  gasped  out  loud;  I  heard  her.  I  don't 
know  but  I  gasped,  too. 

"New  Bedford!"  she  says.  "Why!  why!  you 
don't  tell  me !  What — what  did  you  say  your  name 
was?" 

"I  didn't.  It's — er — Jones.  That's  it — Jones; 
John  Jones.  What's  the  matter — anything?" 

Eureka  sighed.  The  wild  expression  faded  off 
her  face.  "No,  sir,"  says  she,  with  a  look  at  me. 
"No,  sir,  it's  nothing.  Only  when  you  said  New 
Bedford  I  thought  for  a  second — I  hoped — but  it 
couldn't  be,  of  course.  It's  all  right." 

The  Jones  man  was  looking  at  her  hard.  Now 
he  reached  into  the  hatch  of  his  vest  and  fetched 

248 


Are  you  the  new  minister  ?'  she  says. 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

out  a  couple  of  cigars,  everlasting  big  ones,  with 
gilt  bands  on  'em. 

"Have  one?"  he  says,  reaching  towards  me. 

I  hesitated;  them  cigars  looked  tempting,  but 

Eureka  spoke  what  I  was  thinking. 

"You — you're  going  to  smoke,  Mr.  Jones?"  she 
says. 

"Sure  thing!  I  generally  am  smoking,  though 
where  I  came  from  we  don't  get  cigars  with  jewelry 
on  'em  like  these.  They  soaked  me  twenty  cents 
apiece  in  Boston  for  these.  I  told  the  clerk  that 
sold  'em  to  me  he  was  a  pirate,  but  I  bought  'em 
just  the  same.  Didn't  mean  for  him  to  get  the  idea 
that  I  couldn't  afford  to  smoke  what  I  wanted. 
Well,"  to  me,  "why  don't  you  light  up?  Want  a 
match?" 

Eureka  was  troubled  in  her  mind.  You  could 
see  she  hated  to  disaccommodate  a  genuine  member 
of  the  nobility  like  this  one,  but  she  knew  what 
would  happen  if  him  and  me  lit  up. 

"I  don't  know "  she  stammered.  "I'm  afraid 

Miss  Emeline  wouldn't  like  to  have  you  smoke  in 
here  if  she's  coming  down.  She's  tumble  down  on 
tobacco." 

"Shol"  Mr.  John  Jones  looked  some  put  out. 
"Humph  1"  he  says.  "She  must  have  changed  since 
I — since  my  friend  used  to  know  her.  Why,  her 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

old  man — her  father,  I  mean — used  to  smoke  like  a 
tin  lantern.  Well,  never  mind.  I  can  wait." 

He  put  the  cigar  back  in  his  pocket.  "So  she's 
down  on  tobacco,  is  she?"  he  says. 

"Indeed  she  is.  Mr.  Pratt'll  tell  you  so,  too. 
Mr.  Jones,  when  this  friend  of  yours  and  Miss 
Emeline's  used  to  live  in  New  Bedford,  did  he 
know  a  sailor  man — a  whaler  man — named  Lot 
Deacon?" 

The  Jones  feller  started  again.  For  a  second 
he  didn't  answer.  Then: 

"What?    Who?"  he  stuttered. 

"Lot  Deacon.  Oh,  I  hope  he  did  and  that  he 
told  you  something  about  him.  Lot  Deacon  was 
Miss  Emeline's  young  man;  she  was  engaged  to 
him." 

"She  was,  hey?     Well,  well!" 

"Yes.  That's  why,  afore  you  said  what  your 
name  was,  I  hoped  you  might  be  him.  She's  talked 
about  him  to  me  so  much.  She  dreams  about  him, 
too.  You  see,  he  promised  to  come  back  to  her 
some  day  and  she  just  knows  he  will.  She's  never 
give  up  hope." 

Jones  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  silk  handker 
chief. 

"Is  that  so?"  he  says.  "Well,  well!  Lot  Dea 
con?  Lot?  Why,  seems  to  me  I  have  heard  my 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

friend  speak  of  him.  Big,  fleshy  feller,  rather  light- 
complected,  and " 

"Oh,  no!  No,  indeed!  He  was  slim  and  dark 
and  he  had  the  loveliest  curls." 

"Curls?  Gee  !  He  must  have  been  a  sickly  loot 
ing  pill.  However,  that  was  years  ago.  Probably 
he's  had  a  chance  to  improve  since." 

Eureka  almost  forgot  her  reverence  for  his 
clothes,  she  was  so  mad. 

"Indeed,  he  wa'n't  a  pill!"  she  snaps.  "I've  seen 
his  picture  and  /  call  him  real  handsome." 

He  didn't  seem  to  be  paying  attention.  Went  on 
talking  almost  to  himself,  seemed  so. 

"That  was  years  ago,"  he  said.  "Where's  the 
time  gone  to?  A  man  can  get  rid  of  curls  and 
bones  if  he  has  time  enough.  I  cal'late  he  was  meek 
as  Moses,  too;  meek  and  scared  to  say  his  soul  was 
his  own." 

"Miss  Emeline  likes  what  you  call  meekness. 
She  says  it's  the  sign  of  a  gentleman  to  be  re 
tiring.  She  likes  that  almost  as  much  as  she  does 
slimness." 

"She  does?  That's  funny.  I  don't.  I  don't  want 
a  wife  that's  meek,  not  by  a  jugful.  I  used  to  say 
so  to  the  boys  on  the  plantation.  'Fellers,'  I  used 
to  say,  'some  of  these  days,  when  I've  made  my  pile, 
I'm  going  back  to  God's  country  to  be  married, 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

And  then  I'm  going  to  tog  my  wife  out — whew! 
Sealskin  sack  down  to  her  heels,  thumbnail  dia 
monds  in  her  ears,  bonnet  with  ostrich  feathers  on 
it.  That's  what!  Give  me,'  I  used  to  say,  'a  woman 
that  folks'll  turn  around  in  the  street  and  look 
at  when  she  passes  *em.'  That's  what  I  used  to 
say." 

Eureka  was  listening  with  all  her  ears.  Now  she 
sighed  again. 

"That  would  be  lovely,"  she  says,  "wouldn't  it? 
I  know  just  how  you  feel.  If  I  had  a  husband  I'd 
want  him  to  feel  that  way.  But  Miss  Emeline 
wouldn't;  no,  indeed  she  wouldn't." 

Jones  went  on  thinking  out  loud. 

"Queer,"  he  says,  "that  Emeline  Adams  should 
like  thin,  bashful  folks.  She  ain't  that  way  herself. 
Plump,  lively  girl  she  was,  something  like  you,  only 
not  quite  so  much  of  her.  Dressed  pretty  and  gay. 
Full  of  her  tricks  and  cut-ups.  Always  dancing 
and " 

I  was  out  of  my  chair  by  this  time.  He'd  forgot 
to  say  'twas  his  "friend"  had  told  him  this.  Spoke 
as  if  he  remembered  it  himself.  My  head  was 
whirling;  I  was  beginning  to  think  all  sorts  of  im 
possible  thoughts. 

But  Eureka  only  thought  of  what  he'd  said. 
Afore  I  could  speak  she  put  in. 

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MR.    PRATf'S    PATIENTS 

"Dancing!"  she  screamed.  "Dancing!  Miss 
Emeline!  Miss  Emeline  full  of  cut-ups!  And 
plump!  Why,  she's  as  thin — I  mean  slim  as  can 
be !  And  as  for  dancing — why,  she  thinks  it's  the 
invention  of  the  Evil  One  himself.  She  always 
dresses  in  black,  and " 

But  Mr.  Jones  was  on  his  feet  now,  and  as  much 
upset  as  she  was. 

"Hold  on  there!"  he  ordered.  "There  must  be 
some  mistake.  This  ain't  the  Emeline  Adams  I 
knew.  It  can't  be.  She " 

The  door  between  the  dining-room  and  the  set 
ting-room  opened.  It  always  stuck  and  opened 
hard;  now  we  heard  it  open. 

"Eureka,"  said  Miss  Emeline's  voice,  "what  is 
all  this  noise?  I  heard  it  even  in  my  room.  If 
Doctor  Wool " 

She  was  at  our  door  now.  I  glanced  at  John 
Jones.  His  bald  head  was  wet  with  perspiration 
and  he'd  turned  white  under  his  tan. 

"Eureka,"  says  Miss  Emeline,  coming  into  the 
kitchen,  "I  must  say,  I " 

She  stopped.  She  and  Jones  looked  at  each 
other — looked  and  looked.  And,  slow  but  sure, 
what  little  color  she  had  melted  away. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  faint.  "Oh!  What? 
Who?" 

253 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

John  Jones  held  up  his  hands  and  dropped  'em 
again. 

"Lord  A'mighty!"  says  he.     "Emeline!" 
"Oh!  oh!"  pants  Miss  Emeline.     "Lot!" 
And  down  she  went  in  a  heap  on  the  kitchen  floor, 


CHAPTER   XI 

AND  that's  the  way  the  miracle  happened, 
just  as  I've  told  you.  We  got  Miss  Erne- 
line  up  off  that  kitchen  floor,  and  set  her 
in  a  chair  and  sprinkled  water  on  her;  that  is,  the 
Jones — I  mean  the  Deacon — man  and  I  did;  Eu 
reka  was  pretty  nigh  as  much  upset  as  her  boss> 
and  kept  flying  around,  saying:  "Ain't  it  wonder 
ful?  Oh,  I  never  believed  it  would  really  happen  I 
I  told  you  so,  Mr.  Pratt!"  and  so  on,  forever  and 
ever,  amen. 

Miss  Emeline  came  to  after  a  while,  and  the  first 
thing  she  said  was:  "Does  Doctor  Wool  know?" 
And  when  Eureka  said  that  he  didn't,  being  up 
stairs  in  the  room  with  Professor  Quill,  she  said  not 
to  tell  him. 

"Don't  tell  him;  don't  tell  anyone — yet,"  she 

stammered.  "I — I  can't Oh,  Lot,  is  it  really 

you?" 

I  don't  wonder  she  asked.  I  remembered  that 
tintype  she  kept  on  her  bureau  and  'twas  pretty 
hard  to  realize  that  this  was  the  fellow  who  had 
set  for  it  nineteen  years  afore.  Eureka  tipped  me 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  wink  and  jerked  her  head  towards  the  other 
room.  She  and  I  went  out  of  that  kitchen  and  left 
'em  together. 

'Twas  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  when  Miss 
Emeline  opened  the  door.  I  was  glad  to  see  her. 
My  ears  was  tired  listening  to  Eureka's  whispering. 
Course  she  had  to  whisper,  so's  to  keep  Doctor 
Wool  from  hearing  and  coming  down,  and  she  whis 
pered  all  the  time.  Wasn't  it  wonderful?  Did  I 
ever  hear  anything  like  it?  Didn't  I  think  Mr. 

Deacon  was  a  splendid  man?  And  dressed 

My  soul !  did  I  notice  his  clothes?  And  his  jewelry? 
And  so  on,  never  stopping  hardly  to  draw  breath. 
I  was  pretty  well  shook  up  and  stunned  myself,  and 
I  couldn't  talk  much ;  but  Eureka  talked  enough  for 
two. 

Miss  Emeline  was  mighty  weak  and  pale  when 
she  opened  the  door.  When  we  started  to  speak 
to  her  she  asked  us  not  to. 

"Please — please  don't,"  she  begged.  "I — I  must 
go  to  my  room.  This  has  been  such  a  shock — such 

a  surprise  that — that Oh,  please  don't  speak 

to  me!" 

"But  Mr.  Lot — Mr.  Deacon,  I  mean,"  bust  out 
Eureka.  "Will  he " 

"He  is  going  back  to  the  village  to-night.  To 
the  hotel  there.  To-morrow  he  will  come  back,  of 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

course.  But  in  the  meantime  you  must  not  breathe 

a  word  to  anyone.  I — I He  will  explain. 

Please  don't  ask  me  anything." 

She  went  up  the  stairs,  holding  onto  the  balusters 
with  one  hand  and  her  head  with  the  other.  Eu 
reka  and  I  went  out  into  the  kitchen  again. 

Deacon  was  standing  by  the  table.  He  looked 
pretty  nigh  as  shook  up  as  Miss  Emeline.  He  was 
swabbing  at  his  forehead  with  the  silk  handkerchief. 

"Hello!"  says  he,  pretty  average  trembly.  "Say, 
this  beats  cock-fighting,  don't  it.  I — I  guess  I'd 
better  be  getting  back  to  town  and  hunt  up  sleeping 
quarters." 

"You're  going  away!"  says  Eureka.  "Going 
away — to-night  ?" 

"Oh,  I'll  be  back  again  in  the  morning.  She — 
that  is,  Emeline — thinks  I'd  better.  We've  fixed  it 
up.  She  wants  me  to  pretend  to  be  an  old  friend 
of  hers  that  has  come  here  for  treatment.  Then 
I  can  stay  without  all  hands  knowing — knowing  how 
it  is  between  us.  You  two  have  got  to  promise  to 
keep  mum.  Will  you?" 

"Sartin,"  says  I.  Eureka  looked  awful  disap 
pointed. 

"Keep  mum?"  she  says.  "Why,  ain't  you  going 
to  tell  everybody?  I  should  think  you  would.  It's 
so  wonderful!  So  lovely  and  romantic  and  splen- 

257 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

did!  Just  like  the  most  beautiful  story  that  ever 
was!  Are  you  going  to  keep  it  a  secret?" 

"Um-hm.  For  a  while  we  are.  She'd  rather  have 
it  that  way,  and  I  guess  it's  about  as  well.  Ye-es, 
I  guess  'tis." 

"But  ain't  you " 

"There,  there!"  I  cut  in.  "I  presume  likely  the 
parties  interested  know  best  what  they  want  to  do. 
It  ain't  for  us  to  pass  out  advice,  Eureka.  Come 
on,  Mr.  Deacon;  I'll  hitch  up  the  horse  and  drive 
you  over  to  the  hotel." 

I  took  him  by  the  arm  and  hustled  him  out  to 
the  barn.  I  knew  if  he  stayed  where  he  was  Eu- 
reka'd  be  sartin  to  ask  him  a  million  questions 
about  where  he'd  been  all  these  years  and  so  on; 
and  'twas  plain  enough  he  wa'n't  in  no  condition  to 
be  pumped. 

But,  as  it  turned  out,  pumping  wa'n't  needed. 
While  we  was  driving  over  he  spun  the  whole  yarn 
himself.  Seems  he'd  been  about  everywhere  in  those 
nineteen  years.  Up  to  Behring  Sea  on  that  whaling 
voyage,  and  to  Chiny,  and  England,  and  France, 
and  Italy,  and  Turkey,  and  the  South  Seas.  He'd 
set  his  heart  on  making  money — a  lot  of  money — 
same  as  he  swore  he  was  going  to  in  that  note  he 
left  Emeline  when  he  went  away.  But  'rwa'n't  until 
lie  got  back  to  South  America  for  the  third  time  that 

258 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

luck  begun  to  come  his  way.  Then  he  went  up  the 
Amazon  River  and  him  and  two  other  fellers,  an 
other  Yankee  and  an  Englishman,  got  a  rubber- 
growing  grant  from  the  government  and  settled 
down.  They'd  prospered,  right  from  the  start.  He 
was  worth  all  kinds  of  money  now. 

"But  I  never  forgot  the  girl  I  left  to  home  in  New 
Bedford,"  he  says,  sort  of  warming  up  as  he  went 
along.  "When  I  struck  South  America  the  first 
time,  after  that  three  years  of  whaling  and  ship 
wrecks  and  so  on,  I  was  flat  on  my  back  in  the  sick 
bay  for  almost  another  year.  Then,  soon  as  I  was 
well  enough  to  hold  a  pen  in  my  fist,  I  wrote  to 
Emeline.  She  says  she  never  got  the  letter;  any 
how,  I  never  got  any  answer.  So  I  thought  she 
was  still  mad  at  me  and  I  didn't  write  again.  But 
I  never  forgot  her.  No,  sir!  And  I  never  got 
married,  neither.  Bill  and  George,  my  two  part 
ners,  they  took  up  with  a  couple  of  liver-colored 
native  women  and  was  happy.  But  not  me — not 
Lot  Deacon !  The  boys  used  to  say  to  me,  'Lot, 
why  in  thunder  don't  you  take  a  wife,  same  as  we've 
done?'  But  I  said,  'No,  not  much.  I  ain't  saying 
nothing  against  halfbreeds;  they  make  good  enough 
wives ;  but  some  day,  when  I've  made  my  lucky,  I'm 
going  back  to  the  States  and  marry  a  real  girl — one 
like  this.'  And  then  I'd  show  'em  this  photograph," 

259 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He  had  the  photograph  in  his  inside  pocket.  He 
lit  matches  so's  I  could  look  at  it.  I  never  said 
nothing  as  I  looked,  but  I  thought  a  heap.  Was 
this  Miss  Emeline  Adams?  This  young,  plump, 
lively-looking  country  girl,  all  crimps  and  ribbons 
and  fol-de-rol?  Whew!  Nineteen  year  had  made 
a  difference  in  her  as  it  had  in  him. 

I  guess  he  knew  what  I  was  thinking,  for  he  put 
the  photograph  back  in  his  pocket  and  hove  a  sigh 
that  seemed  to  come  from  the  foundations. 

"That  was  a  good  likeness  when  'twas  took,"  he 
says.  "I  couldn't  hardly  believe  that.  .  .  .  But 
there!  I'm  getting  off  my  yarn.  Four  years  ago  I 
come  back  to  the  States  and  started  to  hunt  her  up. 
Course  I  supposed  likely  she  was  married  and  didn't 
want  to  see  me,  but  I  wanted  to  see  her.  I  had  no 
luck  at  all.  I  traced  her  to  Boston  and  there  I  lost 
her.  By  and  by  I  gave  it  up  and  went  back  to  my 
partners  and  rubber.  A  month  ago  I  tried  it  over. 
This  time  I  put  advertisements  in  the  papers." 

"Miss  Emeline  never  reads  the  papers  now 
adays,"  says  I.  "She  thinks  they're  coarse  and  vul 
gar.  She  takes  the  Christian  Herald." 

"Yes,  I  know;  so  she  told  me.  Lord  sakes!  I 
never  thought  of  advertising  in  that.  However, 
nothing  come  of  the  ads  and  I  was  about  ready  to 
quit,  thinking  she'd  snaffled  another  man  and  wanted 

260 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to  be  rid  of  yours  truly.  Then,  a  few  days  ago,  in 
New  York,  I  run  into  a  feller  named  Peters,  her 
second  cousin." 

"Yes.  I've  heard  Eureka  mention  him.  He's 
about  the  only  relation  she's  got  now.  Benjamin 
Peters,  that's  his  name." 

"Um-hm.  Nosey  Peters,  we  used  to  call  him. 
And  when  old  Nosey  said  she  wa'n't  married  and 
told  me  where  she  was,  I  fetched  a  yell  that  scared 
the  barkeep — I  mean  the  hotel  man — 'most  to  death, 
bolted  for  the  train,  stopped  in  Boston  just  long 
enough  to  have  a  few  extra  duds  made,  and  here  I 
am." 

He  sighed  again. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  says.    "Here  I  am." 

"Did  you  tell  Miss  Emeline  about  how  you 
learned  where  she  was?"  I  wanted  to  know. 

"Yes.  Say,  what's  the  matter  with  Nosey;  any 
thing?  She  didn't  seem  to  like  to  hear  about  him. 
Seemed  to  think  he  was  a  hard  ticket.  Acted  like 
a  nice  enough  chap  to  me.  Little  mite  of  a  sport, 
maybe,  but  that's  all." 

I  grinned  to  myself,  in  the  dark.  "He  made  a 
lot  of  money  in  the  show  business,"  says  I.  "Was 
a  play-actor  for  a  spell,  and  then  run  a  little  cheap 
theatre  of  his  own,  so  Eureka  says." 

"Christmas!  that's  nothing.  Why,  one  of  the 
261 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

best  fellers  I  know  runs  a  show  and  a  dance  hall  at 
Para.  A  Britisher,  he  is,  and  a  tip-top  chap,  square 
as  a  brick.  He  staked  me  more'n  once,  in  the  old 
days,  when  I  was  broke." 

"Don't  doubt  it,  but  I  wouldn't  tell  Miss  Erne- 
line  so.  She  thinks  play-acting  is  sinful.  Cousin 
Ben  is  the  family  disgrace;  she  never  speaks  his 
name." 

"The  devil  you  say!     Humph!     Well,  well!" 

He  didn't  say  any  more  until  we  made  the  hotel 
gate.  Then  he  says : 

"Say,  Pratt,  I'm  to  apply  to  your  skipper  over 
there — what's  his  name?  Oh,  yes,  Wool — in  the 
morning  as  a  sufferer  from  something  or  other. 
Emeline  wants  it  that  way.  Can  you  think  of  any 
disease  that'll  fit  me?  I  don't  look  like  a  con 
sumptive,  do  I?" 

"Not  worth  mentioning,  you  don't,  no.  Disease? 
Let  me  see.  Why,  say:  you  might  tell  him  your 
heart  had  troubled  you  for  ever  so  long.  That 
would  be  more  or  less  true,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  laughed  and  said  heart-disease  would  do  first 
rate.  So  I  said  good-night  and  left  him. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  sanitarium  and  had  put 
up  the  horse  and  buggy,  I  found  Eureka,  still  set 
ting  up  in  the  kitchen,  waiting  for  me.  She  was  too 
crazy  excited  to  sleep. 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?"  she  wanted  to  know. 
"Tell  me  every  word." 

I  told  her  as  many  words  as  I  remembered.  She 
was  more  excited  and  tickled  than  ever. 

"It's  lovely!  lovely!"  she  says.  "And  he's  such 
a  fine  man,  a  man  of  the  world,  same  as  you  read 
about.  He's  been  everywheres  and  seen  every 
thing.  Oh,  did  you  hear  what  he  said  about  the 
way  he'd  dress  his  wife!  Think  of  Miss  Emeline 
walking  down  the  Roo  de  Tivoly  in  Paris  all  rigged 
up  in  diamonds  and  sealskins!  Think  of  it!" 

"Yes,"  says  I,  kind  of  doubtful;  "I've  been  think 
ing  of  it." 

"Isn't  it  splendid?  Isn't  she  lucky  to  get  such  a 
man?  Oh,  if  somebody  like  that  come  after  me 
I'd— I'd " 

She  couldn't  say  any  more;  the  joy  of  it  was  too 
much  for  her.  She'd  have  set  up  all  night,  I  cal- 
'late,  but  I  wouldn't.  I  went  aloft  and  turned  in. 
As  I  tiptoed  past  the  door  of  the  room  where  Pro 
fessor  Quill  was  supposed  to  be  perfecting  his 
mathematics  or  doing  his  special  exercises,  I  heard 
Doctor  Wool's  voice  purring  soft  and  steady.  And 
the  burnt  rubber  smell  was  strong  as  ever. 

Next  morning  the  sufferer  from  heart-disease 
drove  into  the  yard  according  to  schedule.  He  had 
his  dunnage  with  him — a  trunk  and  a  big  bag  all 

263 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

plastered  over  with  foreign  labels.  Doctor  Wool 
heard  the  wagon-wheels  and  come  as  nigh  to  hurry 
ing  as  I'd  ever  seen  him,  except  that  time  when  he 
dragged  me  down  to  the  beach  to  chase  Clayton 
and  Miss  Hortense.  When  he  found  that  the  visi 
tor  was  a  candidate  for  right  living  he  almost  melted 
into  butter,  as  you  might  say.  He  had  Lord  James 
and  me  look  out  for  the  dunnage  and  he  helped 
the  Deacon  man  out  of  the  carriage  himself.  They 
went  into  the  office  together  and  the  door  was  shut, 
prompt  but  careful. 

Miss  Emeline  came  down  about  noon.  She 
looked  as  if  she  hadn't  slept  for  a  week.  The  dis 
covery  that  she  and  Mr.  Deacon  were  old  acquaint 
ances  was  made  just  as  'twas  planned,  and  I  must 
say  that  she  carried  it  off  enough  sight  better'n  he 
did.  He  was  pretty  nervous,  but  she  was  calm  and 
cool,  outside.  No  use  talking,  Boston  first-family 
training  counts,  a  time  like  that.  Doctor  Wool 
watched  'em  pretty  close,  but  I  don't  think  he  sus- 
picioned  a  thing. 

And  from  then  on  Mr.  Lot  Deacon,  the  South 
American  manufacturer,  became  star  boarder,  in 
Colonel  Applecart's  place,  at  the  Right  Livers'  Rest. 
Doctor  Lysander  fairly  poured  ile  over  that  ex- 
whaler.  There  was  nothing  too  good  for  him.  Be 
ing  a  heart-diseaser,  he  hadn't  scarcely  any  exercises 

264 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to  take  and  his  diet  wa'n't  cramped  enough  to  no 
tice.  I  judged  that  the  price  the  new  boarder  was 
paying  was  a  big  rock  in  a  thirsty  land  to  Lysander 
the  Great  just  then. 

Deacon  spent  full  as  much  time  with  Eureka  and 
me  as  he  done  with  Miss  Emeline,  though  of  course 
he  spent  a  lot  with  her,  too.  Eureka  heard  some 
of  their  talk  together  and  she  told  me  every 
word. 

"I  can't  understand  Miss  Emeline,"  she  said  to 
me.  "She  don't  act  half  as  glad  and  radiant  and 
soul-satisfied  as  she'd  ought  to,  seems  to  me.  Why, 
he's  fetched  her  the  loveliest  ring.  It's  as  big  as — 
as  a  bonfire,  pretty  near,  and  she  don't  wear  it  at 
all.  Keeps  it  in  her  bureau  drawer  in  a  box.  I 
know  she  don't  like  jewelry,  but  I  don't  see  how 
she  can  help  liking  that.  Mr.  Deacon  told  me  it 
cost  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  Fifteen  hundred  dol 
lars!  I  didn't  know  all  the  rings  in  the  world  cost 
that  much.  Sometime,  when  I  get  the  chance,  I'll 
show  it  to  you,  Mr.  Pratt." 

She  did  show  it  to  me  and  it  was  a  bonfire,  all 
right  enough.  The  one  Lot  wore  on  his  own  finger 
wa'n't  a  circumstance  to  it.  Blessed  if  it  didn't 
pretty  nigh  put  a  body's  eyes  out  to  be  in  the  room 
with  it. 

"I  heard  'em  talking  about  it  yesterday,"  says 
265 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Eureka.  "They  was  alone  together  and  I  tried 
not  to  hear,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  He  asked  he* 
why  she  didn't  wear  it.  She  kind  of  shivered  like, 
seemed  to  me,  and  she  says: 

1  'I  can't,  Lot.     I  can't — not  now,  if  ever.' 

'  'But  why  not,  Emeline?'  he  says.  'We're  en 
gaged,  ain't  we?  Have  been  for  nineteen  year,  and 
Lord  knows  that's  long  enough.' 

'  'Lot,'  she  says,  'how  do  you  know  I  want  to 
marry  you,  after  all  this  long  time?' 

"  'Marry  me !'  says  Mr.  Deacon — and  no  won 
der!  'Why  for  God  sakes,  Emeline ' 

"  'Oh,  don't,  don't  talk  that  way,  Lot.  I  can't 
bear  to  hear  you.' 

"  'All  right,  I  won't.  I'm  trying  not  to,  but  it 
comes  hard.  I've  been  living  kind  of  rough  for  a 
good  while  and  I  can't  rub  the  roughness  off  all  to 
once.  But  what  do  you  mean  by  talking  about  want 
ing  to  marry  me?  Haven't  you  been  waiting  for  me 
all  this  time?  And  saying  you  knew  I  was  coming 
some  day?  And  dreaming  about  me?  That  Spar 
row  girl  says  you  have.' 

"  'Did  she  say  that?  Has  she  been  talking  to 
you  of  my  affairs?  She  should  know  better.  If  she 
wasn't  such  a  well-meaning,  kind-hearted  girl,  I 
should  discharge  her  this  moment.' 

"You  better  believe  I  felt  pretty  bad  when  I  heard 
266 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

that,  Mr.  Pratt.    But  what  Mr.  Deacon  said  made 
me  feel  so  proud  I  didn't  care. 

"  'Discharge  her!'  he  almost  hollered.  'Discharge 
her!  Why,  Emeline,  how  you  talk!  She's  a  fine 
girl!  A  bully  girl!  I  never  saw  a  better,  hand 
somer,  nicer-behaved  girl  than  she  is.  And  I've 
seen  some  in  my  day,  all  colors  and  kinds.' 

"I  tell  you  I  was  proud  when  I  heard  that,  but 
Miss  Emeline  only  shivered  again  and  asked  him 
please  not  to  speak  of  the  dreadful  creatures  he'd 
met  in  the  awful  places  he'd  been  in.  He  went  on 
pleading  with  her. 

'  'But,  Emeline,'  he  says,  'how  can  you  talk  about 
marrying  me  that  way?  Ain't  I  been  true  to  you 
all  these  years?  Didn't  I  work  for  nothing  but  to 
make  you  happy  some  day?  What  in — I  mean  what 
do  you  think  I  hunted  you  up  for  if  it  wa'n't  for 
just  that?  After  I  found  you  hadn't  married  any 
body  else,  of  course.' 

"She  bust  out  crying.  'Oh,  I  know  it,  Lot/  she 
says.  'I  know  it.  You're  a  kind,  good-hearted  man. 
I  know.  But  are  you  sure  you  want  to  marry — 
me?' 

"  'Why- — why,  Emeline '  he  stammered. 

imagine  he  couldn't  find  the  words  to  answer  her 
with.    She  spoke  again  afore  he  did  find  'em. 

'You  must  be  patient,'  she  says.     'You  must: 
267 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

bear  with  me.  And,  for  my  sake,  you  must  learn 
to  speak  lower  and  not  use  such — such  language 
and  slang.  Perhaps,  if  you  do  that,  and  never  tell 
Doctor  Wool  or  anyone  else  a  word  of  this  that  is 

between  us,  I — I — perhaps But  oh,  I  wish 

you  wouldn't  wear  those  clothes.' 

"I  give  you  my  word,  Mr.  Pratt,  I  almost  hol 
lered  out  loud  when  she  said  that  about  his  beautiful 
clothes.  And  he  was  as  much  surprised  as  I  was. 

"  'Clothes,'  he  says.  'Why,  what's  the  matter 
with  these  clothes?  I  spent  four  days  in  Boston 
getting  these  clothes  made.  Paid  the  tailor  extra  to 
hurry.  "Blame  the  expense !"  I  says  to  him.  "Tog 
me  up!  Spread  yourself!  I'm  game."  That's 
what  I  said.' 

"But  she  only  cried  again  and  went  off  to  her 
room.  I  didn't  hear  any  more,  Mr.  Pratt,  and  I 
wish  I  hadn't  heard  that  much.  What  makes  her 
act  so?  I  can't  understand.  If  he  wasn't  such  a 
splendid  man,  just  like  a  regular  nobleman,  I  might; 
but  I  can't  now.  Can  you?" 

I  just  shook  my  head.  It  dfd  seem  to  me  that 
Eureka's  and  Miss  Emeline's  pet  romance  they'd 
built  so  much  on  wa'n't  turning  out  to  be  all  sugar; 
there  was  some  vinegar  in  it. 

I  was  coming  to  like  the  Deacon  man  first-rate. 
He  and  I  and  Eureka  spent  more  and  more  time 

268 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

together.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  being  in  the  kitchen 
with  us  full  as  much  as  he  did  confabbing  with  Wool 
or  Professor  Quill.  Yes,  or  even  Miss  Emeline. 
And  he  kept  his  eyes  open;  he  was  as  sharp  as  a 
razor.  There  wa'n't  much  got  by  him,  I  tell  you. 

One  day  I  was  out  in  the  barn  and  he  drifted  in. 
I  was  currying  the  horse  and  he  set  down  on  the 
wheelbarrow  and  begun  to  ask  questions.  They 
was  questions  about  Wool  and  Quill  and  Miss  Eme 
line,  mainly.  Especially  about  Wool. 

"Who  is  he,  anyway?  Tell  me  what  you  know 
about  him." 

I  told  what  I  knew,  which  wa'n't  so  much.  He 
listened,  mighty  attentive. 

"So  Emeline's  money — part  of  it,  anyhow — is 
in  that  feller's  hands.  She's  backing  this  Breeze 
Bluff  health  factory,  is  she?  I  guessed  as  much. 
Now  tell  me  something  about  the  schoolmaster,  old 
Long-shanks — Quill,  I  mean.  What  is  he  doing 
here?" 

I  said  he  was  a  patient,  suffering  from  general 
breakdown. 

"Humph !  Does  he  dance  his  breakdowns  in  that 
room  overhead  there?  He's  shut  up  in  that  room 
most  of  the  time,  and  no  one  but  Wool  is  allowed 
to  come  near  him.  What  is  going  on  in  that  room?" 

I  hesitated.  "Well,"  says  I,  "there's  two  ex- 
269 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

planations  been  given  out  so  fur;  that  is,  you  can 
call  'em  explanations  if  you  want  to." 

I  told  him  about  the  "mathematics"  and  the  "ex 
ercises."  He  sniffed. 

"Rats!"  he  says.  "Tell  that  to  the  marines. 
You're  no  marine,  Pratt.  What  do  you  think  is 
up?" 

For  a  minute  I  didn't  answer.  Then  I  spoke 
what  I'd  been  thinking  for  some  time. 

"I  believe,"  I  told  him,  "that  there's  something 
else  going  on,  something  that's  a  dead  secret  be 
tween  the  Professor  and  the  Doctor.  Miss  Erne- 
line  told  Eureka  once  that  Professor  Quill  was,  be 
sides  being  a  schoolteacher,  a  sort  of  inventor,  as 
you  might  say.  He's  invented  half  a  dozen  con 
traptions  that  have  done  pretty  well  for  somebody 
else,  though  he  ain't  made  much  out  of  'em.  I " 

"Hold  on  there  1  Wait  a  minute.  How  did 
Emeline  know  all  this?" 

"Why,  she  and  Quill  are  old  friends.  They  knew 
each  other  up  to  Brockton.  Didn't  she  tell  you 
that?" 

"No.  No-o.  Fact  is,  she  don't  seem  to  want  to 
talk  about  this  Quill  feller  at  all.  Hum!  .  .  . 
Hum  1  ...  Well,  never  mind  that.  So  you  think 
he's  working  at  some  invention  or  other  in  that 
room,  do  you?" 

270 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"That's  about  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of.  Don't 
it  sound  reasonable  to  you?" 

"Why,  yes.  Only,  if  he's  here  for  his  health,  he 
don't  seem  to  be  getting  much  of  it.  And  why  does 
Wool  lie  about  it?  And  where  does  Wool  come  in, 
anyway?  Pratt,  what's  your  real  inside  opinion  of 
this  Doctor  Lysander  P.  Wool  anyway?  Just  be 
tween  you  and  me — what  is  it?" 

I  spent  a  second  or  two  deciding  how  to  answer. 
He  didn't  wait  for  the  decision. 

"I  see,"  he  says.  "Yes,  yes.  You  think  he's  a 
blamed  old  fraud." 

"Why — why,  good  land,  Mr.  Deacon  I  I  never 
said  nothing  like  that." 

"I  know  you  never  said  it.  I  said  it  and  you 
thought  it.  All  right.  Now  I'll  say  something  else 
you've  thought:  You  think  there's  some  kind  of 
crooked  work  going  on  here." 

"There's  nothing  crooked  about  Professor  Quill. 
I'll  take  my  oath  on  that." 

"So  will  I,  from  what  I've  seen  of  him;  but  it's 
here,  just  the  same.  You  know  what  I'm  going  to 
do?  I'm  going  to  heave  out  a  line  or  two  baited 
with  the  name  of  Lysander  P.  I'm  in  hopes  I  may 
get  a  bite  or  two  that'll  lead  to  information." 

When  he  said  that  I  had  an  idee.  I  laid  down 
my  currycomb,  got  a  pencil  out  of  my  pocket,  and 

271 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

wrote  a  name  and  address  on  the  back  of  an  old 
envelope. 

"You  might  heave  one  of  your  lines  in  that  direc 
tion,"  says  I.  "Perhaps  you'll  get  a  bite  and  per 
haps  you  won't." 

He  read  what  I'd  written.  "  'Colonel  Wil 
liam  J.  Applegate.  Such  and  such  Street,  Provi 
dence,  R.  I.,''  says  he.  "Humph!  So  you 
think " 

"I  don't  think  at  all,  Mr.  Deacon;  I  can't  afford 
to.  But  I  guess  sometimes,  and,  judging  from  the 
way  the  Right  Livers  cleared  off  these  premises  in 
a  few  days  after  the  Colonel  did,  I  guess  maybe  he'd 
come  across  something  interesting  and  had  spread 
the  news,  on  the  quiet.  Anyhow,  I'd  chuck  a  line 
that  way  if  I  was  you." 

"Thanks.  You're  a  cagey  old  bird,  Pratt.  All 
right,  I'm  another." 

"Yes,  and  there's  a  third  that's  just  as  cagey, 
and  some  more,  too,  if  I'm  a  judge.  His  name  is 
Lysander  P.  Wool.  That's  what  you  mustn't  for- 
get." 

"I  won't.  If  I  have  a  business  call  that  takes  me 
away  from  these  latitudes  for  a  week  or  so  pretty 
soon,  don't  be  surprised.  And  don't  ask  too  many 
questions  as  to  where  I'm  going,  either." 

For  a  week  or  so  after  this  nothing  special  hap- 
272 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

pened.  He  and  Miss  Emeline  were  together  about 
as  much  as  usual  and  no  more.  When  they  was 
together  Doctor  Wool  most  generally  happened  to 
be  somewheres  In  the  neighborhood.  Once  the  Doc 
tor  spoke  to  me  concerning  'em.  Of  course  the  ques 
tions  he  asked  wa'n't  really  questions — just  every 
day  talk,  that's  all — but  it  was  him  that  led  the  talk 
in  that  direction. 

"Miss  Adams  and  our  new  frriend,  Mr.  Deacon, 
are  congenial  spirits,  are  they  not,"  he  says,  smiling 
as  ever. 

"Seem  to  be,"  says  I. 

"It  would  appear  so.  Yes.  I  am — er — delight 
ed,  of  course.  Delighted — yes.  They  are  old  ac 
quaintances,  I  believe." 

"So  Eureka  says  Miss  Emeline  says." 

"Yes.  Old  acquaintance  should  not  be  forgot 
ten,  the  song  tells  us.  Mr.  Deacon  is  a  gentleman 
of  wide  experience,  I  should  say." 

"  'Pears  to  be." 

"No  doubt  he  and  Miss  Adams  knew  each  other 
— er — very  well  in  years  gone  by." 

"Think  so?" 

"Yes— er-          Why!     Why!     What's  this?" 

He  forgot  to  purr  when  he  said  the  "What's 
this?"  The  organ  music  stopped  and  his  voice 
sounded  human  and  pretty  sharp,  all  to  once.  I 

273 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

looked  up.  What  I  saw  was  Professor  Quill  and 
Deacon  walking  across  the  lawn  together.  I  looked 
at  them  and  then  I  looked  at  Wool.  His  heavy 
eyebrows  was  drawn  together  and,  until  he  noticed 
that  I  was  watching  him,  he  looked  uglier'n  ever  I 
see  him. 

He  started  over  to  meet  'em.  When  he  spoke 
the  ugliness  was  all  gone.  He  was  smooth  and 
beautiful  as  a  taffy  image  in  a  candy  store  window. 
Oh,  he  was  a  cagey  old  bird,  Lysander  was,  just  as 
I  told  the  Deacon  man. 

"Ah!"  he  purred.  "Good  morning,  gentlemen. 
Good  morning.  You  have  been  for  a  little  stroll 
together?  Yes?" 

"Yes,"  says  Deacon.  "We've  strolled  some. 
Hey,  Professor?" 

Professor  Quill  acted  pretty  nervous.  Yes,  and 
scared,  too,  seemed  to  me.  His  thin  face — thinner 
than  ever,  since  he'd  been  doing  the  "mathematic 
exercise" — went  sort  of  pale  and  he  stammered 
when  he  spoke. 

"I — I  happened  to  meet  Mr.  Deacon  and  we — 
we  walked  together,"  he  said. 

"Of  course,  naturally.  And  talked,  too,  I  pre 
sume.  That  is  one  of  the  charms  of  walking,  ac 
cording  to — er — one  of  our  great  authors.  A  walk 
without  the  pleasant  accompaniment  of  conversa- 

274 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

tion  is  like — er — I  forget  the  comparison,  but  it  is 
immaterial.  You  have  talked — yes." 

"Guess  I've  done  most  of  the  talking,"  says  Dea 
con.  "The  Professor's  kind  of  tired,  I  judge.  Acts 
pretty  worn  out,  to  me." 

"Oh,  not  at  all;  not  at  all,"  put  in  Quill,  in  a 
hurry.  "I — I  am  quite  fresh,  I  assure  you." 

Wool  shook  his  big  head,  same  as  a  Sunday- 
school  superintendent  might  shake  it  at  a  naughty 
little  young-one  in  the  front  pew. 

"Ah,"  says  he,  smiling,  sugary  but  reproving,  as 
you  might  say,  "the  Professor  does  not  forget  our 
motto,  I  see.  He  is  thinking  right — thinking  right, 
yes.  But  we  must  not  forget  our  rules,  also,  must 
we?  I  am  sure  it  is  time  for  your  exercise,  Pro 
fessor  Quill.  If  I  might — in  my  capacity  as  father 
of  this  little — er — flock — offer  a  suggestion,  it  would 
be  that  you  should  not  forget  your  exercise,  Pro 
fessor." 

The  Professor  was  already  on  his  way  to  the 
house. 

"I — I  did  forget,"  he  stammered,  walking  fast. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor  Wool.  Mr.  Deacon, 
you — you  will  excuse  me,  won't  you?" 

"Sure  thing,"  says  Deacon.  "Don't  let  me  in 
terfere  with  the  exercises,  Profess." 

"Professor  Quill  is  fatigued,"  purrs  Wool,  of- 
275 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

faring  explanation.  "His  system  was  quite  broken 
down  when  he  came  here,  but  we  are  gradually  re 
building  it  we — er — trust.  Did  he — er — tell  you 
of — er — of  his  treatment,  Mr.  Deacon?" 

"Not  a  thing.  We  just  talked  along,  that's  all. 
Guess  it's  time  for  my  exercise,  ain't  it?  Where's 
that  long-legged  director?  Hi,  King  Edward! 
Looking  for  me,  was  you?" 

He  called  Hopper  "King  Edward"  or  "Richard 
the  Third"  or  "Queen  Victoria"  or  any  British 
name  that  come  handiest.  His  Lordship  didn't  like 
it  a  mite,  but  he  didn't  dast  to  say  anything. 

Two  days  later  he — Deacon,  I  mean — went  off 
on  that  "business  errand."  He  told  Miss  Emeline 
— so  Eureka  said;  I  got  all  that  kind  of  news  from 
her — that  he'd  be  gone  only  a  few  days.  He  was 
going  to  look  into  a  finance  affair,  that  was  his  ex 
cuse  to  her  and  to  Wool.  She  seemed  resigned  to 
have  him  go.  Their  secret  had  been  kept  first-rate. 
Eureka  and  I  were  the  only  outsiders  that  knew  it. 

So  he  told  her  he  was  going  on  the  finance  er 
rand;  but  to  me  he  said  different. 

"I'm  off,"  he  says.  "When  I  come  back  I  may 
bring  a  fish  or  two  off  those  'lines'  you  and  I  were 
talking  about.  I  hope  I  shall." 

"Mr.  Deacon,"  I  whispered,  looking  around  to 
make  sure  nobody  was  listening,  "have  you  located 

276 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

that — that  thing  that  keeps  the  Professor  in  his 
room?" 

He  winked.  "I  am  beginning  to  smell  the  rat," 
he  says.  "I  rather  guess  I'm  beginning  to  smell 
him." 

"What's  he  smell  like?" 

"He  smells  like  rubber." 

"Humph!  I  smelt  as  much  of  him  as  that.  You 
can't  go  through  that  upstairs  hall  without  smelling 
that  much." 

He  winked.  "Maybe  so,"  he  says,  "but  I've  been 
used  to  that  smell  for  a  good  many  years.  It's  my 
business.  However,  that  ain't  the  smell  I'm  going 
after  on  this  trip.  I'm  going  to  smell  wool.  So 
long,  Pratt." 


CHAPTER    XII 

MISS  EMELINE  don't  seem  to  be  mourn 
ing  for  her  long-lost  now  he's  gone  as 
much  as  she  did  when  she  thought  he 
never  would  come  back,"  I  says  to  Eureka. 

Deacon  had  been  away  from  the  sanitarium  five 
days,  and,  though  I'd  been  hoping  he  might  write 
and  report,  he  hadn't  at  all. 

"Course  she  don't!"  snapped  Eureka.  She  was 
awful  touchy  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Emeline  and 
Lot,  seemed  so.  The  touchiness  was  growing  on 
her  every  day.  "Why  should  she?  She  knows 
now  he  will  come  back." 

"Has  he  wrote  to  her?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Does  she  write  to  him?" 

"I  suppose  likely  she  does.  Engaged  folks  usu 
ally  write  to  each  other,  don't  they?" 

"Does  she  talk  about  him?" 

"No,  not  much." 

"What  does  she  talk  about?" 

"Why,  not  much  of  anything.  Mr.  Pratt,  what 
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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

is  the  matter  with  Miss  Emeline?  There's  some 
thing  on  her  mind.  She's  awful  troubled  about 
something." 

I  noticed  that  myself.  I  should  have  thought 
'twas  on  account  of  her  "engagement" — I  had  my 
opinion  as  to  the  joy  of  that  engagement  by  this 
time — if  it  hadn't  been  for  her  telling  me,  long 
afore  the  Deacon  man  showed  up,  about  her  "anx 
ieties."  No,  it  wa'n't  that  alone,  nor  another  thing 
that  I  suspicioned  strong,  'twas  something  else,  some 
worry  that  was  on  her  mind.  'Twas  plain  enough 
to  see  that  'twas  there,  but  what  it  was  I  didn't 
know. 

There  wa'n't  any  use  talking  about  it;  there's 
never  much  use  talking  when  talk  don't  do  any  good, 
at  least  that's  my  way  of  thinking.  A  pile  of  folks 
in  this  world  think  different,  I  know,  but  that's  my 
way.  So  I  changed  the  subject. 

"This  Deacon  man  is  a  tip-top  chap,  ain't  he," 
says  I. 

"Yes,"  says  Eureka. 

"I  like  him  fine.     Don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he  likes  you.  You  heard  what  he  said  to 
Miss  Emeline  about  you,  and  he's  said  the  same  to 
me  a  whole  lot  of  times.  Says  you're  a  stunning 
good  girl." 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

I  thought  that  would  please  her,  and  I  guess  it 
did.  But  she  didn't  say  nothing.  I  tried  again. 

"Say,  some  folks  have  all  the  luck,  don't  they?" 
says  I.  "And  them  that  have  it  don't  seem  to  ap 
preciate  it.  Miss  Emeline  don't  appear  to  hurrah 
over  what's  in  store  for  her  as  much  as  £  body'd 
think  she  would.  Godfrey!  Suppose  you  was  go 
ing  to  marry  a  man — and  a  good  man,  too;  a  little 
rough,  but  that's  nothing — just  suppose  you  was  go 
ing  to  be  Mrs.  Lot  Deacon,  sealskin  sacks  and  dia 
monds  and  Roo  de  What-dye-call-its  and — and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  Just  suppose  you  was  going  to  be 
that,  Eureka;  hey?  You  wouldn't  tell  him  not  to 
wear  thunder-and-lightning  clothes,  would  you?  I 
tell  you,  I—  Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

She  whirled  on  me  like  a  teetotum.  Her  eyes 
fairly  flashed  sparks.  Acted  as  if  she  was  fighting 
to  keep  from  crying. 

"You — you "  she  sputtered.  "How — how 

— what  do  you  mean  by  talking  to  me  that  way? 
Just  because  I'm  poor,  and  work  out,  and  haven't 
got  any  family — I  mean  any  that's  more  aristo 
cratic  than  a  mud-turtle's— you — you  think  you  can 
say  anything  you  want  to  to  me.  /  haven't  got  any 
feelings.  I — I " 

She  choked  right  up  then  and  turned  away.  I 
never  felt  worse  in  my  life.  I  liked  Eureka ;  I  never 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

saw  a  girl  I  liked  more;  and  I  wouldn't  have  hurt 
her  feelings  for  no  money.  I  couldn't  see  how  I'd 
hurt  'em  now,  but  I  ain't  lived  fifty-odd  year  with 
out  learning  that  there's  times  when  argument  with 
a  female  is  as  bad  policy  as  thumping  a  bull's  nose 
with  your  fist  to  see  which  is  the  hardest.  I  walked 
over  to  her  and  put  my  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Land  of  love,  Eureka !"  says  1.  "I  didn't  mean 
to  do  any  harm  and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  it.  As 
for  heaving  your  poverty  at  you,  that  would  be  a 
smart  thing  for  me  to  do,  wouldn't  it?  I'm  so 
scant  of  money  myself  that  I  welcome  a  shift  in  the 
weather,  on  account  of  the  change  in  it." 

That  made  her  laugh  and  she  cheered  up  a  little. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  says,  "I  am  foolish,  I  suppose. 
Born  that  way,  I  guess.  I  don't  know  what  ails 
me  lately." 

I  changed  the  subject  again. 

"Any  news  from  the  other  strayed-or-stolen?"  I 
asked  her.  "Any  answers  from  that  missing  wife 
of  Lord  James's?" 

"No,  not  a  thing.  I  shall  begin  to  believe  as  you 
do,  pretty  soon,  that  there  ain't  any  wife  and  never 
was." 

If  she  was  losing  her  faith  in  romance  and  the 
like  of  that  there  must  something  ail  her  sure,  I 
thought.  This  was  the  fust  time  I'd  ever  heard  her 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

even  hint  that  the  Swede  'ummer  wouldn't  report 
on  deck  some  time  or  other.  And  she'd  quit  talk 
ing  about  my  "fortune,"  too;  never  mentioned  it 
at  all.  She  seemed  absent-minded,  sort  of,  and  blue 
and  more'n  once  during  the  next  couple  of  days  I 
caught  her  setting  alone  in  the  kitchen,  staring  at 
nothing  in  particular  and  sighing  every  little  while. 
When  I'd  ask  her  what  the  trouble  was,  she'd  just 
say,  "Nothing,"  and  get  up  and  go  away. 

"I  guess  you're  in  love,  after  all,  Eureka,"  I  says, 
hoping  to  tease  her  into  better  spirits.  "You  act 
just  the  way  the  lovesick  young  women  in  your 
Home  Comforter  yarns  do.  Who's  the  lucky  man? 
You  told  me  'twa'n't  Lord  James,  he  being  married 
already.  There's  only  me  and  Wool  left  on  the 
premises,  and  I'm  too  bashful  to  ask  you  which  of 
us  'tis." 

"Oh,  don't  be  such  a  punkinhead,"  was  all  the 
satisfaction  I  got  out  of  that. 

I  was  over  to  the  village  the  next  forenoon  and 
stopped  into  the  post-office,  hoping  there  might  be 
a  note  for  me  from  Deacon.  There  wa'n't,  though, 
but  Nate  Scudder  come  out  from  behind  the  letter 
box  rack  and  hailed  me.  Him  and  I  hadn't  had 
much  to  say  to  each  other  since  he  offered  me  the 
"commission"  on  whatever  I'd  help  him  sell  the 
sanitarium.  I  was  surprised  when  he  called  me  by 

282 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

name  and  offered  to  shake  hands.    I  answered  pleas 
ant  enough,  but  I  didn't  shake. 

"Got  a  minute  or  two  to  spare,  Sol,  have  ye?" 
he  says.  "I — I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little 
mite." 

"All  right,  Nate,"  says  I.  "If  I  wanted  to  talk 
with  you  'twould  be  a  little  mite,  too.  You'd  be 
surprised  how  little." 

"Now,  now,"  says  he,  "what's  the  use  of  quar 
reling?  I  ain't  going  to  talk  about  that  bill — not 
now,  I  ain't.  It's  something  else.  Here,  come  on 
inside  here,  where  we  can  be  comf'table.  Come  on, 
won't  ye?" 

First  I  wa'n't  going  to,  and  then  I  thought  I 
would,  just  for  the  fun  of  it.  I  was  curious  to  find 
out  what  he  was  up  to  now.  So  he  took  me  into 
the  back  shop,  amongst  the  kerosene  barrels  and 
empty  boxes,  and,  after  beating  all  around  Robin 
Hood's  barn  by  talking  about  the  weather  and  so 
on,  he  finally  commenced  to  work  up  into  the  lati 
tude  of  his  subject.  And  that  subject  surprised  me; 
'twas  Lord  James. 

"This  Hopper  man  over  to  your  place,"  he  says; 
"he's  sort  of  manager  there,  ain't  he?" 

"Manager  nothing  1"  says  I.  "He  manages  his 
own  job,  same  as  I  manage  mine,  but  that's  all  he 
manages." 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"But  it's  a  pretty  good  job  he's  got,  ain't  it?" 
says  he.  "Makes  good  money  at  it,  don't  he?" 

"Why,  fair  to  middling,  I  cal'late.  Why?  He 
don't  owe  you  any  'bills,'  does  he,  Nate?" 

uNo-o.  No,  he  don't  owe  me  nothing — not  yet. 
Is  he  any  relation  to  Eureka  Sparrow?" 

"Relation?  Him?  Why,  he's  from  England 
and  she  hails  from  Wellmouth  Neck.  I  can't  think 
of  any  two  places  that's  less  liable  to  be  relation 
to  each  other  than  that,  not  offhand.  What  in  the 
world  put  that  notion  into  your  head,  Nate?" 

He  hummed  and  hawed.  "Oh,  I  don't  know," 
he  says.  "They  was  so  thick  and  friendly,  you 
see." 

"Thick  and  friendly!  Nate,  if  'twas  hard  cider 
season  I'd  begin  to  believe  you  had  been  sampling 
stock,  even  if  'tis  pretty  early  in  the  day  for  that 
kind  of  exercise." 

Course  I  knew  better;  the  only  time  he  ever 
sampled  anything  was  when  somebody  else  was  pay 
ing  for  it;  but  I  liked  to  stir  him  up. 

"Look  here,  Sol  Pratt,"  he  snarled,  "I  want  you 
to  understand  I  don't  drink  liquor.  I've  got  better 
sense." 

"That  so?  Well,  I  always  heard  'twas  good 
sense  not  to  drink  your  brand  of  cider,  Nate.  How 
ever,  we  won't  argue  about  that.  What  do  you 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

mean  by  saying  Eureka  and  His  Lordship — Hop 
per,  I  mean — are  thick  and  friendly?" 

"Well,  they  was  together  over  at  Horsefoot 
Island  that  time  and  now  they're  together  again 
and — and " 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  Nate?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much.  Sol,  you  answer  me  this: 
If  the  Sparrow  girl  and  that  Englishman  ain't  awful 
friendly,  what  is  she  doing  his  advertising  for  him 
for?" 

I  whistled.  "Oh,  I  see,"  says  I.  "Yes,  yes,  I  see. 
How  did  you  know  she'd  been  advertising?" 

He  fidgeted  a  jiffy  and  then  he  says:  "I  know 
'cause  I've  seen  her  advertisement  in  the  Boston 
papers.  Huldy  Ann,  my  wife,  and  I  both  see  it. 
That's  how  I  know.  Who's  this  wife  of  his?  And 
how  did  he  lose  her?  Funny  thing  to  lose,  a  wife 
is,  seems  to  me." 

I  laughed.  "You  can  lose  'most  anything  in 
New  York,  so  I've  heard  tell,"  I  answered.  "It's 
a  pretty  big  place  and  there's  lots  of  kidnappers 
around." 

"Humph!  Huldy  and  I  went  to  New  York  thir 
teen  year  ago  and  she  didn't  get  lost.  Nobody  kid 
napped  her.  What  are  you  grinning  at?" 

I  could  have  told  him,  but  I  thought  'twas  just 
as  well  not  to. 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Nothing,"  says  I.  "My  face  itched,  I  guess. 
Hopper's  wife  is  a  foreigner;  she  can't  speak  hardly 
any  English,  and  so  'twas  easy  for  her  to  get  lost. 
That's  his  story,  anyhow." 

"Humph!  I  cai'late  there's  a  pretty  good-sized 
reward  for  her,  ain't  there?" 

"Not  that  I  ever  heard  of." 

"How  you  talk!  Course  there's  a  reward.  There 
must  be,  else  why  would  Eureka  Sparrow  be  so  in 
terested?  Seems  natural  enough  if  a  man  lost  his 
wife  he'd  pay  a  reward  to  get  her  back.  By  cracky! 
he'd  have  to." 

"Maybe  so." 

"No  maybe  about  it.  Oh,  you  can't  fool  me,  Sol 
Pratt.  That  Sparrow  girl  sees  a  chance  to  make 
some  money,  and  that's  what  she's  advertising  for. 
1  know  a  thing  or  two,  I  do." 

"Do  you?  Land  sakes!  I  am  surprised.  Learn 
something  every  day,  don't  we." 

"Quit  your  fooling.  There's  something  queer 
about  that  English  Hopper  man  and  I  always 
thought  there  was.  He  ain't  a  common  person  at 
all;  anyhow,  /  never  see  anybody  like  him.  You 
always  call  him  'Lord  James'  and  so  does  Eureka. 
What  makes  you?  Tell  me  now,  honest." 

I  looked  at  him.  He  was  serious  as  a  meeting 
house  door.  I  was  having  a  fairly  good  time  and 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  thought  'twas  too  bad  to  cut  it  short.  I  shook 
my  head. 

"You're  asking  a  whole  lot  of  questions,  Nate," 
says  I,  trying  my  best  to  be  mysterious.  "What  are 
you  so  anxious  to  know  for?" 

He  answered  averaging  quick  for  him. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  he  says.  "I  read  only 
t'other  day  about  a  Lord  that  had  been  play-acting 
on  the  stage  in  this  country  for  years  and  years. 
Nobody  knew  he  was  one,  nuther,  till  his  dad  died 
and  left  him  a  million  or  so.  You  can't  always  tell 
about  them  foreigners." 

"That's  so,  you  can't.  You're  a  pretty  smart 
feller,  Nate,  you  are.  But  if  I  was  you,  I  wouldn't 
talk  much  about  Lord — I  mean  about  Mr.  Hopper, 
nor  about  Eureka's  advertisements,  neither.  It's 
supposed  to  be  a  secret  and  you  might  get  into 
trouble." 

"My  soul  and  body!  7  sha'n't  tell.  Huldy  Ann 
nor  I  ain't  mentioned  it  to  a  soul.  I — I  was  just 
sort  of  curious,  that's  all,  just  curious.  Understand, 
don't  you,  Sol?  Say,  don't  tell  Eureka  I  spoke  to 
you  about  her  advertising.  She  might  not  like  it." 

He  made  me  promise  I  wouldn't  tell  Eureka  nor 
His  Lordship,  and  finally  I  said  I  wouldn't.  But 
all  the  way  home  I  wondered  and  wondered  what 
in  the  world  set  him  on  that  track.  At  last  I  came 

287 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to  the  conclusion  that  he  figgered  Eureka  must  be 
in  the  thing  for  money  and  the  least  idee  that  some 
one  was  going  to  lay  hands  on  a  cent  was  enough 
to  stir  him  all  up.  It  was  a  joke,  the  whole  busi 
ness,  and  his  notion  that  Hopper  might  be  a  real 
Lord  was  the  funniest  part  of  it. 

Another  couple  of  days  went  by,  and  I  forgot  it 
altogether.  Then  I  was  reminded  in  an  odd  way. 
'Twas  Eureka  that  reminded  me. 

"Mr.  Pratt,"  says  she,  "what  do  you  suppose 
Nate  Scudder  wants  to  see  me  about?" 

She'd  caught  me  unexpected,  and  I  had  to  swal 
low  afore  I  could  answer. 

"Wants  to  see  you?"  I  says.    "Why?    Does  he?" 

"He  says  he  does.  His  man — the  poor  thing  that 
delivers  his  orders  for  six  dollars  a  week — was  in 
here  just  now  and  left  me  a  note.  Here  'tis;  read 
it." 

I  took  the  note.  It  was  wrote  in  pencil  on  a  piece 
of  brown  paper  and  read  like  this : 

DEAR  EUREKA: 

I  wished  you  would  come  over  to  my  house 
along  about  eight  o'clock  to-night.  I  got  some 
thing  important  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  It 
is  business  and  you  will  not  be  sorry  you  came. 
Do  not  say  anything  about  it  to  anybody  but 
send  word  by  Eli  [Eli  was  his  order  man] 

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MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

that  you  will  be  on  hand.  Come  sure.  You 
will  not  lose  anything  by  it.  I  always  thought 
a  lot  of  you  and  your  folks  and  so  did  Hulda. 

Yours  truly, 
NATHAN  T.  SCUDDER. 

"What  do  you  make  of  that?"  says  she,  watching 
my  face.  "What  do  you  suppose  he  wants  to  see 
me  about?" 

I  dodged  that  question.  Asked  one  of  my  own 
instead. 

"Are  you  going?"  says  I. 

"I  told  Eli  I  would.  First  I  was  mad,  on  ac 
count  of  that  silliness  about  he  and  Huldy  Ann 
thinking  a  lot  of  me  and  my  folks — that's  enough 
to  make  anybody  mad.  Then  I  got  curious,  won 
dering  what  it  could  be  that  I  'wouldn't  lose  any 
thing  by,'  and  I  said  I'd  go.  I  thought  maybe  you'd 
go  with  me." 

"Fd  be  glad  to.  But — but  you  notice  he  says 
you're  not  to  say  anything  to  anybody." 

"I  noticed  it,  but  I  don't  have  to  mind  Nate  Scud- 
der  unless  I  want  to,  I  should  hope.  I'd  like  to 
have  you  come  first  rate,  if  you  will.  Pa  always 
said  it  took  at  least  six  average  humans  to  keep 
abreast  of  old  Nate,  and  you're  more'n  average, 
'cording  to  my  thinking,  so  you'd  be  worth  as  much 

289 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

as  the  extry  five.     I'd  feel  safer  if  you  was  along. 
Will  you  come?" 

I  didn't  have  to  be  asked  again.  Remembering 
Nate's  talk  to  me,  I  should  have  hated  to  miss  it. 
Maybe  here  was  the  answer  to  the  conundrum. 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "I'll  go  with  you,  Eureka.  I'll 
drive  you  over  to-night,  if  the  Doctor  don't  say  no." 

He  didn't  and  we  arrived  at  Scudder's  on  time. 
All  the  way  over  Eureka  was  speculating  and  won 
dering  what  it  meant  and  what  Nate  wanted  to  see 
her  about.  I  had  a  kind  of  foggy  guess,  but  I  didn't 
guess  out  loud;  kept  pretending  to  be  as  puzzled  as 
she  was. 

Nate  met  us  at  the  front  door  of  his  house,  which 
was  out  back  of  the  store.  He  wa'n't  any  too  glad 
to  lay  eyes  on  me. 

"I  was  kind  of  expecting  you'd  come  alone,  Eu 
reka,"  he  says.  "However,  I  suppose  likely  you 
didn't  like  to  make  the  trip  by  yourself.  You  can 
wait  out  in  the  store,  Sol.  Some  of  the  fellers  from 
the  village  and  around  are  there,  and  they'll  be 
awful  tickled  to  see  you." 

"They'll  have  to  tickle  themselves  then,"  says 
Eureka,  decided.  "Mr.  Pratt's  going  to  stay  with 
me.  I  fetched  him  for  just  that." 

He  backed  and  filled,  said  'twas  kind  of  private 
and  so  on,  but  she  never  budged. 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"You  can  see  us  both  or  neither,"  she  told  him. 
"/  ain't  particular  which  it  is,  myself." 

So,  after  a  spell,  he  decided  to  make  the  best  of 
it  and  shoved  us  into  the  front  parlor.  'Twas  a 
dismal  sort  of  a  place,  with  hair  wreaths,  and  wax 
fruit,  and  tin  lambrekins  over  the  windows,  and 
land  knows  what  all.  It  looked  like  a  tomb  and 
smelt  pretty  nigh  as  musty  and  dead-and-gone. 

We  sat  down  on  the  hair-cloth  sofa,  holding 
hands  to  keep  from  sliding  off  onto  the  floor, 
and  he  walked  around  trying  the  doors  to  see  if 
they  was  latched.  He  acted  awful  fidgety  and 
excited. 

"Where's  Huldy  Ann?"  says  I,  by  the  way  of 
starting  things  going. 

"She's — she's  busy,"  he  says.  "Eureka,  I — I 
wrote  you  I  had  something  to  say  to  you,  didn't  I?" 

"Yes,"  snaps  Eureka,  who  was  pretty  fidgety  her 
self,  "you  did.  Why  don't  you  say  it?" 

"I'm  going  to,  I'm  going  to.  I — I Well, 

you  see,  Eureka,  it's  such  a  sort  of  private  thing 

that  I Sol,  don't  you  think  you'd  better  see 

the  fellers  in  the  store?  They'll  be  disappointed  if 
they  know  you're  here  and  they  don't  get  a  chance 
to  say  hullo." 

"Then  they'll  have  to  bear  up  best  they  can," 
says  Eureka.  "Mr.  Pratt  don't  think  any  such  thing. 

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MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He's  going  to  stay  right  here.  Go  on  and  tell  what 
the  private  thing  is.  I  can't  stay  all  night." 

He  took  a  couple  of  turns  up  and  down  the  floor, 
and  then  he  begun,  really  begun  this  time. 

"Eureka,"  he  says,  "you've  been  advertising  for 
a  wife — not  for  yourself;  course  I  don't  mean  that. 
Ha!  ha!  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  But  you've  been 
advertising  for  a  wife  for  your  Mr.  Hopper  man. 
You  have,  ain't  you?" 

At  the  mention  of  these  ads  Eureka  had  stiffened 
up  like  a  wooden  image.  Now  she  flew  at  him. 

"What  if  I  have,"  she  says.  "What  business  is 
that  of  yours,  Nate  Scudder?  How  did  you  know 
about  it?" 

"There,  there,  don't  get  mad.  I  see  it  in  the  pa 
pers,  of  course.  I — I Say,  look  here;  what 

reward  is  there  for  that  wife?" 

"Reward?" 

"Yes,  yes,  reward.  What  will  this  Mr.  Hopper 
pay  for  his  wife,  suppose  a  body  fetched  her  to 
him?  What'll  he  pay?" 

"Pay?  Nathan  Scudder,  what  are  you  talking 
about?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  know 


"I  don't  mean  to  tell  you  nothing.  I'm  just  ask 
ing  about  that  reward.  See  here,  Eureka;  sup 
pose  a — a  sartin  party  had  got  track  of  that  wife, 

292 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

that  Swede  woman,  and  could  fetch  her  to  her  hus 
band  any  time — would  you  be  willing  to  divide  the 
reward  with  that  party?" 

Eureka  looked  at  him,  and  then  at  me,  and  then 
at  him  again.  She  was  so  set  back  she  didn't  know 
what  to  do. 

"Reward!"  she  stammered.  "There  ain't  any  re 
ward.  What " 

But  Nate  was  excited,  too. 

"I  know  better,"  he  sung  out.  "Course  there's  a 
reward.  Would  anybody  be  fool  enough  to  take 
all  that  trouble  and  pay  for  them  ads  for  nothing? 
There  is  a  reward,  and  I  want  half  of  it.  I'm  rea 
sonable;  I  might  have  took  the  whole.  Huldy  Ann 
says  I  ought  to;  but  I'm  reasonable,  I  want  to  do 
the  fair  thing  and  save  trouble.  When  that  postal 
card  came  saying  that  the  people  she  was  working 
for  thought  likely  she  was  the  one  that  had  been 
advertised  for,  I " 

"Postal  card!  What  postal  card!  Whose  postal 
card?" 

"Why,  yours,  of  course.  It  had  'E.  W.  Sparrow, 
Wapatomac,  Mass.,'  on  it  and  I " 

"When  did  it  come?" 

"It  come  four  days  ago,  that's  when.  And  I  took 
all  the  trouble  to  go  clear  up  to  Boston  and  see  those 
people,  and  pay  my  fare  and  hers  and — and " 

293 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

He  stopped.  Eureka  was  standing  right  in  front 
of  him,  and  her  fingers  were  twitching.  He  didn't 
have  much  hair  left,  but  if  I  was  him  I'd  have  been 
scared  of  losing  the  remainders. 

"A  postal  card!"  she  snapped.  "A  postal  card 
for  me!  Come  four  days  ago!  And  you — and 
you Where  is  that  postal  card?" 

Nate  turned  pale.  I  guess  he'd  said  more'n  he 
meant  to. 

"It's — it's  in  your  box  this  minute,"  he  stam 
mered.  "I — I  was  going  to  put  it  there  afore,  but 
it  got — er — er — mislaid  somehow,  and — and " 

"Mislaid!     I  know  who  mislaid  it.     And  who 

kept  it  and  read  it,  too.     Oh,  you — you I'll 

put  you  in  jail  for  this.     I  can.     I  can  put  him  in 
jail,  can't  I,  Mr.  Pratt." 

I  didn't  know,  but  I  hated  to  disappoint  her. 
Besides,  she  had  all  of  my  sympathy. 

"Seems  to  me  I've  read  of  folks  getting  about 
ten  years  for  stealing  other  people's  mail,"  I  said, 
cheerful. 

"Stealing!"  Nate  fairly  jumped  up  and  down. 
"I  never  stole  it.  I — I " 

The  door  from  the  hall  opened,  and  Huldy  Ann 
put  in  her  head. 

"He's  come,"  says  she.  "He's  here  now,  ahead 
of  time.  What'll  I  do  with  him?" 

294 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  guessed  who  'twas  right  off,  and  afore  Nate 
could  answer  I  stepped  over  to  that  door  and  sang 
out: 

"Hopper!"  I  hailed.  "Hopper,  here  we  are! 
Come  ahead  in." 

And  in  he  came,  afore  either  Huldy  or  her  hus 
band  could  make  a  move.  He  looked  surprised 
enough  to  see  us. 

"  'Ello,"  says  he.  "  'Ello,  Pratt.  'Ello,  Eureka. 
What's  all  this?  What's  up?  Did  'e  send  for  you, 
too?" 

"He  did,"  says  I.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Hopper. 
You're  right  where  you  belong,  even  if  you  are 
ahead  of  time.  The " 

"Huldy!"  hollered  Nate,  "don't  go.  Stay  here. 
I — I  need  you." 

"But  I  can't  stay,  Nathan.  I  mustn't.  I  can't 
leave " 

"Stay  here,  I  tell  you !    And  shut  that  door." 

She  shut  it  and  stayed.  Lord  James  looked  as  if 
he  cal'lated  he'd  struck  a  crazy  asylum  on  the 
loonies'  busy  evening. 

"What?    For  'eaven  sakes,"  says  he,  "what " 

"He's  got  your "  began  Eureka.  Scudder 

shut  her  off. 

"No,  you  don't!"  he  yelled.  "No,  you  don't!  I 
want  my  half  of  that  reward.  It  was  me  that  got 

295 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

her.  I've  took  time  and  spent  money,  and,  by 
cracky,  I'm  going  to  be  paid  for  it !  You,  Lord  Hop 
per,  or  whatever  your  name  is,  I  expect  you  to  pay 
me  a  hundred  dollars  or  else  I'll  ship  her  back  where 
she  came  from.  I  will,  by  cracky!  and  then  I'll  sue 
you  for  the  cash  I've  spent.  I " 

"Shut  up!"  Somebody  had  to  say  it,  for  Eureka 
and  Lord  James  and  he  and  Huldy  Ann  were  all 
going  at  once.  "Shut  up!"  I  shouted.  "Let's  have 
some  common  sense  here.  Nate  Scudder,  do  you 
really  mean  you've  got  a  hold  of  Hopper's  wife — 
Christina — the  one  he  lost?" 

"None  of  your  affairs  what  I've  got  a  hold  of,  Sol 
Pratt.  You  keep  out  of  this.  I'm  going  to  get  that 
hundred  dollars,  or " 

He  stopped.  'Twas  Lord  James  that  stopped 
him.  That  physical  director  had  grabbed  him  by 
the  neck.  I  never  see  a  man  so  white  and  wild  as 
that  Englishman. 

"What — what  are  you  saying?"  he  panted,  be 
twixt  his  teeth.  'What?" 

Eureka  was  half  way  to  crying. 

"He's  got  your  wife,"  she  sobbed.  "The  wife 
you  lost  in  that  New  York  depot.  I've  been  adver 
tising  for  her,  to  help  you,  and  now  he Oh, 

you  poor  thing!  Mr.  Pratt,  quick!  He's  going  to 
faint" 

296 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

But  he  wa'n't  going  to  faint.  He  looked  at  us 
all,  and  then  he  made  a  flying  jump  tor  the  door. 
Huldy  Ann — I  cal'late  that  woman  ain't  afraid  of 
nothing  if  there's  a  dollar  tied  to  it — she  got  in  his 
way  and  hung  onto  the  knob.  He  see  'twas  no  use 
there  and  made  a  jump  to  the  other  door,  the  one 
that  led  into  the  next  room.  That  he  flung  open 
and  bolted  headfirst  through  it.  Nate  started  to 
foller,  but  he  run  into  the  centre  table,  with  the 
lamp  and  photograph  album  on  it,  and  tumbled  flat 
with  the  album  on  top  of  him.  It  struck  his  head 
and  made  a  holler  sound,  like  thumping  an  empty 
barrel — but  I  didn't  remember  this  till  afterward. 

I  hadn't  time  to  remember  anything.  From  that 
next  room  came  a  scream,  two  screams — one  was 
from  Lord  James  and  t'other  was  a  woman's  voice 
— and  such  a  voice.  Then  there  was  noises  like  of 
things  falling  and  banging  around  and  more  screams. 
Afore  we  could  any  of  us  get  our  wits  together,  out 
of  that  door  come  His  Lordship  again,  running  for 
dear  life,  and  right  astern  of  him,  with  one  hand  in 
his  shirt  collar  and  pounding  him  like  a  pile-driver 
with  the  other,  come  a  woman  about  six  foot  tall 
and  broad  in  proportion  and  with  a  face  on  her  like 
a  wild  cat  let  loose.  He  was  hollering  for  mercy, 
and  she  was  screeching  in  some  sort  of  foreign  lingo. 
For  just  about  a  half  a  minute  they  was  in  that  room 

297 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

with  us.  Then  they  shot  out  through  the  door  that 
Huldy  Ann  had  been  holding  shut,  slam-banged 
through  the  hall  and  outdoor.  The  yells  and  thumps 
moved  around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  died 
away  in  the  distance.  From  the  direction  of  the 
store  and  post  office  sounded  a  tremendous  hubbub. 
I  judged  the  gang  of  loafers  there  had  been  some 
surprised  and  scared. 

Of  course  they  all  hands  come  piling  into  the 
house  to  know  what  was  up.  Two  or  three  of  'em 
had  water  buckets  and  one  had  an  axe.  You  see, 
they  figgered  the  house  must  be  afire.  I  was  laugh 
ing  so  I  couldn't  say  nothing.  Eureka  was  half 
way  betwixt  laughing  and  crying;  and  Nate  was 
rubbing  the  place  where  the  album  hit  him  and  call 
ing  his  wife  names  for  letting  the  free-for-all  get 
by  her  and  outdoor.  She  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  stop  a  train  of  cars,  but  that  didn't  make  no  dif 
ference. 

While  the  powwow  was  going  on  the  big  woman 
came  back  again.  She  was  consider'ble  rumpled 
and  scratched  up,  but  there  was  fire  in  her  eye.  She 
had  Lord  James's  collar  in  one  big  fist  and  she 
pounded  the  table  with  the  other  and  talked  a  blue 
streak.  Nobody  could  make  out  plain  what  she  said, 
for  she  was  mainly  jabbering  Swede  lingo,  but  there 
was  English  enough,  of  a  kind,  to  give  us  some  idee. 

298 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Afterward  we  learned  more,  and  the  sense  of  it  was 
about  this : 

Her  husband — His  Lordship  was  her  husband,  all 
right  enough — had  run  off  and  left  her  that  time  in 
the  depot.  He'd  done  it  on  purpose,  and  I  don't 
know  as  I  blame  him  much.  She  was  a  holy  terror. 
I  never  see  such  a  female.  Ever  since  she'd  been 
working  around  in  different  folks'  houses,  in  differ 
ent  places,  but  she  never  stayed  long  in  one  of  'em, 
and  there  wa'n't  any  tears  shed  when  she  quit,  nigh's 
I  could  find  out.  The  people  she  was  with  at  the 
last  place  had  heard  her  yarn,  as  much  as  they  could 
understand  of  it,  and  when  they  read  the  advertise 
ment  in  the  paper  had  wrote  the  postal  to  Eureka, 
the  one  that  Scudder  had  got  hold  of.  He'd  read 
it,  seen  a  chance  to  grab  some  money,  and  had  gone 
up  there,  found  she  was  Mrs.  Hopper,  and  had 
brought  her  down  with  him  on  the  cars.  He  hadn't 
told  her  that  he  had  her  husband — fear  the  reward 
wouldn't  be  paid,  I  cal'late — but  had  give  her  to 
understand  she  was  going  to  have  a  surprise, 
something  fine,  for  coming  to  Wapatomac  with 
him. 

That's  the  yarn.  The  only  part  I  couldn't  un 
derstand  was  why  the  folks  she  was  working  for 
hadn't  told  Nate  that  she  wanted  to  find  her  hus 
band  only  to  break  his  back  for  him.  I  cal'late  they 

299 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

was  too  glad  to  have  her  took  off  their  hands  to  take 
any  chances. 

Well,  Eureka  and  I  left  the  whole  crowd  trying 
to  pacify  her  and  came  away.  At  the  door  I  called 
back  a  parting  word. 

"Say,  Nate,"  says  I,  "Eureka  says  you  can  have 
all  the  reward.  She  don't  want  none  of  it." 

On  the  way  home  Eureka  was  pretty  nigh  hys- 
tericy.  First  she'd  cry  and  then  she'd  laugh.  I 
laughed  till  I  ached  all  over. 

"But  why — why"  says  she,  "did  he  talk  about 
her  so  loving  that  first  night?  Cry  about  her?  And 
call  her  a  hummer,  and  all  that?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I've  give  you  my  explanation 
a  good  many  times.  A  pint  of  cherry  bounce'll  make 
some  folks  cry  and  love  all  creation  besides.  Lord 
James  is  one  of  that  kind;  when  he's  sober  the  only 
one  he  loves  is  himself." 

Eureka  got  calmed  down  when  we  got  to  the  yard. 

"There!"  says  she.  "That's  enough  of  that.  I'm 
going  to  be  sensible  and  forget.  But,  Mr.  Pratt, 
don't  you  ever,  ever  say  romance  or  long  lost  to  me 
again.  I've  had  enough  romance  to  last  me 
through." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WE  set  up  till  'most  eleven,  waiting  for  His 
Lordship  to  come  back  home,  but  he 
didn't  come.  And,  to  make  a  long  story 
shorter,  I  might  as  well  say  right  here  that  I  ain't 
laid  eyes  on  him  since  he  flew  out  of  Nate  Scudder's 
parlor  with  the  "  'ummer"  after  him.  Somebody 
came  to  his  room  that  night  and  took  away  his 
things.  I  presume  'twas  him,  but,  if  it  was,  he  was 
mighty  still  about  it.  No,  I  ain't  seen  Lord  James 
Hopper  from  that  day  to  this.  How  he  got  off 
the  Cape  so  quick  and  so  quiet  is  a  mystery.  There's 
a  freight  train  for  Boston  that  leaves  Wapatomac 
about  three  in  the  morning,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  the  brakemen  of  that  train  could  tell  a  few  things 
if  they  wanted  to.  But,  as  they  ain't  supposed  to 
carry  passengers,  they  won't  tell. 

Scudder  made  us  a  visit  the  first  thing  in  the  morn 
ing.  He  was  wild-eyed  and  all  ket  up.  When  he 
found  that  His  Lordship  had  turned  up  missing  he 
was  hotter  than  ever.  Going  to  sue  somebody  right 
off,  as  usual. 

"How's  Lady  Christina  this  morning,  Nate?"  I 
301 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

wanted  to  know.  "How's  it  seem  to  have  one  of  the 
nobility  in  the  house?" 

He  fairly  gurgled. 

"I— I "  he  stuttered,  "I Somebody's 

going  to  pay  for  this.  Pay  for  it;  you  understand?" 

"Oh,  that'll  be  all  right,"  says  I.  "Think  of  the 
reward  you're  going  to  get.  All  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  hang  onto  the  lady  till  you  get  that  reward. 
Judging  from  what  little  I've  seen  of  her,  I  should 
think  you  might  have  to  hire  a  couple  of  able-bodied 
men  to  help  hang  on,  but  that's  nothing,  consid 
ering." 

I  gathered  from  his  remarks  that  him  and  Huldy 
Ann  had  been  up  all  night  and  that  the  "hummer" 
was  humming  yet. 

"She's  a  regular  tiger,"  he  growled;  "a  regular 
tiger.  Yell!  You  never  heard  such  yelling  as  she 
done.  And  when  we  tried  to  stop  her  I  thought 
she'd  scratch  our  eyes  out.  Half  the  town  was  hang 
ing  around  the  house  till  breakfast  time.  And  all 
they  done  was  laugh  and  carry  on.  Seemed  to  think 
'twas  funny.  Funny !  By  cracky,  somebody's  going 
to  pay  for  the  fun.  You  hear  me,  somebody's  go 
ing  to  pay  for  it.  When  I  think  of  the  time  I  wasted, 
all  out  of  kindness  for  other  folks,  and  the  car  fare 
I  spent,  and  all,  I — I " 

He  'most  cried  when  he  mentioned  that  car  fare. 
302 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Nothing  would  do  but  he  must  see  Doctor  Wool 
right  off.  Seemed  to  have  an  idee  that  the  Doctor 
would  pay  the  reward,  or  the  expenses,  or  some 
thing.  He  never  made  a  bigger  mistake  in  his  life. 
Lysander  said  he  was  sorry,  very  sorry,  but  of 
course  the  domestic  affairs  of  servants  was  not  his 
business,  and,  without  wishing  to  hurt  anybody's 
feelings,  he  would  suggest  that  Mr.  Scudder  did  not 
holler  so  in  his  office  or  on  the  sanitarium  grounds; 
it  was  disturbing  to  the  patients.  Nate  went  away, 
waving  both  arms  and  threatening  to  sue  all  crea 
tion,  Lord  James  and  Eureka  especial. 

Eureka  and  I  talked  about  the  affair  most  of  that 
day,  and  I  presume  likely  we'd  have  talked  all  the 
evening,  too,  if  we'd  had  the  chance.  But  we  didn't 
have  it.  Something  else  happened  that  evening,  and 
it  put  Hopper  and  the  "  'ummer"  out  of  our  heads 
for  good  and  all. 

'Twas  after  supper  and  I  went  out  to  the  barn 
to  lock  up.  I  was  just  taking  the  key  out  of  the 
door  when  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  arm.  I  turned 
around.  There,  alongside  of  me,  was  Lot  Deacon, 
as  large  as  life — which  was  large  enough,  goodness 
knows. 

He'd  been  away  over  a  week,  and  I'd  begun  to 
think  something  must  have  happened  to  him;  but 
it  hadn't. 

303 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Hello!"  I  sung  out.  "Well,  for  the  land  sakes, 
where  did  you  come  from?" 

"Hush!"  he  whispers.  "Don't  make  any  noise. 
I  came  on  the  afternoon  train,  and  I've  been  hang 
ing  around  the  woods  ever  since.  I  don't  want  any 
one  to  know  I'm  here.  Don't  say  anything,  but 
come  along.  I  want  you." 

I  couldn't  help  saying  something;  however,  I  said 
it  in  a  whisper. 

"Did  you  find  out "  I  asked.  He  interrupted 

me,  sharp. 

"I  found  out  what  I  went  after,"  he  says.  "Now 
I  mean  to  find  out  more.  I  want  you  to  come  with 
me  to  that  room  of  Quill's." 

"But — but  he's  there,  ain't  he?" 

"No,  I  think  he's  gone  out.  There  is  no  light 
in  the  window.  And  Wool's  in  his  office,  so  the 
coast  is  clear.  Come." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  get  into  that  room? 
The  door's  always  locked." 

"I've  got  a  key  that  will  fit.  I  looked  after  that 
while  I  was  away.  Be  quiet  now." 

I  didn't  say  any  more.  We  tiptoed  into  the 
house,  up  the  stairs  and  along  the  hall  to  the  door 
of  the  room  where  the  Professor  had  been  spending 
so  much  of  his  time.  'Twas  locked,  of  course,  but 
the  Deacon  man  got  a  big  bunch  of  keys  out  of  his 

304 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

pocket  and  commenced  to  putter  with  the  lock.  The 
fifth  key  he  tried  fitted,  and  we  tiptoed  into  the 
room,  closing  the  door  behind  us.  The  smell  of 
burnt  rubber  was  so  strong  it  pretty  nigh  choked  us. 

Deacon  scratched  a  match,  found  a  lamp  and  lit 
it.  Then  I  pulled  the  window  shades  down  tight, 
and  we  commenced  to  look  around. 

That  room  was  a  surprise  party  in  its  way.  The 
carpet  had  been  pulled  off  the  floor,  there  was  a 
pine  table  in  the  middle,  and  all  around  was  the 
most  curious  mess  of  truck.  Bottles  by  the  dozen 
and  little  trays  and  tools  and  hammers  and  measur 
ing  things,  even  a  little  alcohol  lamp  and  a  sort  of 
baby  forge  which  was  run  by  alcohol,  too.  And 
rubber — all  kinds  of  rubber;  big  round  chunks  of 
the  raw  stuff,  same  as  it  comes  from  the  place  where 
they  grow  it;  and  strips  of  soft  rubber  like  the  bands 
they  put  around  bundles;  and  pieces  of  hard,  shiny 
stuff  that  didn't  look  like  rubber  at  all. 

I  couldn't  make  head  nor  tail  of  the  mess,  but 
Deacon  got  more  interested  every  second.  He  went 
snooping  around,  picking  up  this  thing  and  that, 
looking  at  'em,  and  handling  'em,  and  holding  'em 
to  the  lamp  so's  to  see  'em  plainer.  All  at  once  I 
heard  him  fetch  his  breath  hard. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  says,  almost  forgetting  to  whis 
per.  "Good  Lord  A'mighty " 

305 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

He  had  one  of  the  hard,  shiny  pieces  in  his  hand 
and  was  staring  at  it  with  all  the  eyes  in  his  head. 

"What  is  it?"  says  I. 

He  didn't  answer  for  a  second.  When  he  did 
his  voice  sounded  sort  of  scared  and  reverent. 

"I — it  can't  be,"  he  says.  "It  can't  be.  How 
could  he  do  it  here  ?  Without  the  equipment  or  any 
thing?  He  couldn't!  and  yet — and  yet  I  believe  he 
has.  It's  a  new  process;  some  new  process,  with 

chemicals.     If  it  is — if  it  is,  it  is  the  biggest  thing 
» 

He  stopped  and  went  on  twitching  and  pulling  at 
the  shiny,  black  thing  in  his  hands. 

"What  1*5  it?"  I  whispered.  "What  have  you 
struck?" 

He  turned  to  me,  and  his  eyes  were  shining  and 
his  mouth  working. 

"It's  the  answer,"  says  he.  "By  the  great  and 
mighty,  I  believe  it's  the  answer!" 

Afore  I  could  ask  another  question  I  heard  some 
thing.  So  did  he.  We  looked  at  each  other. 

"Some  one's  coming,"  he  whispered,  low  and 
quick.  "They  may  be  coming  here.  We  mustn't  be 
seen.  What  will  we  do?" 

We  couldn't  go  out  of  the  door  we  come  in  with 
out  walking  right  into  that  hall.  I  looked  around. 
There  was  another  room  connecting  with  this  one, 

306 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

the  Professor's  bedroom  it  was.  I  grabbed  him  by 
the  arm  and  pulled  him  into  it,  closing  the  door  easy 
astern  of  me ;  it  was  swelled  and  wouldn't  latch,  but 
I  held  it  shut. 

The  person  we'd  heard  in  the  hall  had  stopped 
and  was  knocking  on  the  door  to  the  room  where 
the  bottles  and  rubber  and  all  the  rest  of  it  was. 

We'd  ought  to  have  locked  that  door  from  the 
inside,  but  we  hadn't.  And  we'd  left  the  lamp  burn 
ing,  too.  The  knock — a  mighty  faint,  careful  knock 
it  was — sounded  again.  Then  some  one  said: 

"Professor!    Professor  Quill,  are  you  there?" 

No  answer,  of  course.  Then  I  heard  the  door 
open  and  the  person  who  had  knocked  came  in.  I 
knew  who  'twas,  for  I  recognized  the  voice,  but  I 
bent  down  to  the  keyhole  of  one  door  to  make  sure. 
'Twas  Miss  Emeline,  and  she  was  alone.  I  felt 
Deacon's  hand  moving  up  and  closing  over  my 
mouth.  'Twas  plain  he  wanted  me  to  keep  that 
mouth  shut. 

"Professor,"  says  Miss  Emeline  again.  "Profes 
sor,  where  are  you?" 

She  tried  our  door,  but  I  hung  onto  it  like  grim 
death.  She  whispered  the  Professor's  name  again, 
and  then  she  gave  it  up  and  went  tiptoeing  around 
that  other  room.  Deacon  and  I  kept  still. 

Next  minute  there  was  more  footsteps  in  the  hall, 
307 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

heavy,  solid  footsteps,  and  I  heard  Miss  Emeline 
give  a  little  scream. 

"Oh!"  says  she.     "Oh,  I " 

"Why,  Miss  Adams!"  booms  Doctor  Wool's 
voice.  "Miss  Adams,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

Again  I  thought  'twas  time  for  us  to  be  making 
ourselves  scarce.  I  remembered  there  was  a  door 
from  that  bedroom  to  the  hall,  and  the  idee  struck 
me  that  we  might  clear  out  that  way.  But,  as  I 
started  to  move,  Deacon  held  me  tight.  For  some 
reason  or  other  he  didn't  seem  to  want  to  clear  out. 

I  heard  the  Doc  close  the  door  of  the  other  room. 
Then  he  says  again: 

"Why,  Miss  Adams,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

I  expected  to  hear  some  sort  of  excuse  or  apology. 
I  sartin  never  expected  to  hear  what  I  did.  When 
she  answered  him  'twa'n't  to  make  any  excuses. 

"Doctor  Wool,"  she  says,  "why  did  you  tell  me 
that  Professor  Quill  was  working  on  a  mathematical 
system  in  this  room?" 

He  didn't  answer  on  the  jump.  I  wish  I  might 
have  seen  his  face,  but  he  was  out  of  range  of  the 
keyhole. 

"My  dear  Miss  Adams,"  he  purred.  "Really  I 
• — I  can't  understand " 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  that?" 

"I  told  you  because — because  you  asked  me." 
308 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"I  asked  you  for  the  truth  and  you  told  me  a 
falsehood.  Yes,  a  deliberate  falsehood." 

"A  falsehood!  Miss  Adams,  I  am  not  accus 
tomed  to " 

It  didn't  make  any  difference  to  her  what  he  was 
accustomed  to.  The  "first  family"  blood  was  up; 
I  never  heard  her  speak  so  sharp  and  brisk.  She 
flew  back  at  him  afore  he  could  get  his  purr  work 
ing  good. 

"You  told  me  a  falsehood.  Anyone  can  see  that 
the  story  of  a  mathematical  system  is  ridiculous  and 
untrue.  He  has  been  working  at  some  experiment 
here,  some  chemical  experiment,  I  am  sure.  It  is 
perfectly  plain.  You  knew  that  I  was  Professor 
Quill's  friend;  that  we  were  old  friends.  Why  have 
you  deceived  me  in  this  way?" 

He  hesitated  again.  Then  I  cal'late  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  change  his  course.  That  tack  was 
fetching  him  further  from  port  every  second,  and 
I  guess  he  see  'twas  high  time  to  'bout  ship.  Any 
how,  I  heard  him  walk  over  to  where  she  was. 

"Miss  Adams,"  he  says,  and  the  sugar  was  back 
in  his  voice  now  for  sartin;  every  word  leaked  sweet 
ness;  "Miss  Adams,  will  you — er — sit  down.  You 
and  I  must  be  frank  with  each  other.  This  decep 
tion  of  mine — a  harmless  deception  and  meant  only 
for  the  best — must  cease.  It  has  pained  me  ex- 

309 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

tremely  to  deceive  you  at  all.     I  shall  deceive  you 
no  longer.     Sit  down — please." 

She  didn't  answer  a  word,  but  she  set.  I  guess 
likely  he  set,  too,  for  I  heard  one  of  the  Professor's 
chairs  creak  as  he  came  to  anchor  in  it. 

"Miss  Adams,"  he  purred,  "I  will  explain." 

Her  tone  wa'n't  purry,  by  a  consider'ble  sight.  If 
she'd  spoke  to  me  that  way  I'd  have  shivered. 

"If  you  will  be  so  good,"  says  she. 

"Yes — yes,  I  will  explain.  It  is  true  that  I  de 
ceived  you  as  to  our  good  friend  Quill's  occupation 
here.  But  it  was  a  deception  which  he  begged  me 
to  practice  upon  you.  Upon  you  and  the  rest — yes. 
He  has  not  been  engaged  in  mathematical  research; 
it  is  research  of  another  kind.  I  ...  You  must  be 
prepared  for  a  shock,  my  dear  Miss  Adams !  it  pains 
me  extremely  to  tell  you,  but  I  must.  Professor 
Quill  came  here  because  of  the  state  of  his  health; 
he  told  you  that,  did  he  not?" 

"Yes;  yes,  he  did.  But  what  do  you  mean  by 
paining  me?  Is  he  worse?" 

"He  will  never  be  better.  He  told  you,  I  pre 
sume,  as  I  did,  that  his  ailment  was  a  nervous  one. 
It  is  more  than  that." 

"More?    Oh,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  our  friend — my  friend  as  well  as 
yours — is  afflicted  mentally." 

310 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

I  heard  her  give  a  little  gasp.  When  she  spoke 
her  voice  shook  like  a  loose  jib. 

"Mentally?"  she  said.  "Afflicted  mentally?  Oh, 
you  don't  mean " 

"I  mean  the  worst.  He  is  afflicted  in  his  mind. 
He  suffers  from  hallucinations.  This — all  this  here 
— is  one  of  them." 

"Oh,  what  are  you  trying  to  tell  me?  Is  he  in 
sane?" 

"Not  precisely  that.  Not  that — now,  or  ever, 
let  us  hope.  But  he  is  mentally  irresponsible.  He 
suffers,  as  I  said,  from  hallucinations,  and  they  must 
be  humored  or  the  consequences  will  be  alarming. 
He  believes  himself  to  be  a  great  inventor.  In  other 
days — when  you  knew  him  in  Brockton — he  had  in 
vented,  or  discovered,  several — er — well,  chemical 
processes  of  some  trifling  value.  Now,  however,  his 
hallucination  is  that  he  is  on  the  trail  of  a  great  dis 
covery;  something  in  the" — he  hesitated.  I  guess 
likely  he  was  just  going  to  tell  the  truth,  and,  not 
being  used  to  it,  it  choked  him — "something  in  the 
line  of  a  new  water-proof  coating  for — er — gar 
ments  and  the  like.  It  is  quite  worthless,  I  fear,  but 
his  mental  state  requires  that  he  be  humored.  He 
demanded  this  room  for  his — er — experiments.  He 
particularly  demanded  that  the  experiments" — he 
kind  of  sneered  when  he  said  the  word — "be  kept 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

a  secret.  They  have  been  so  kept,  as  you  know. 
They  must,  for  his  sake,  continue  to  be  kept.  I — 
er  .  .  .  Perhaps,  Miss  Adams,  it  would  be  safer 
for  us  to  leave  this  room ;  he  may  return  at  any  mo 
ment." 

He  got  up  from  his  chair,  but  she  didn't.  I  didn't 
hear  her  move. 

"Do  his  people  know  this?  That  his  brain  is 
affected,  I  mean?" 

"Yes — ah,  yes,  certainly.    Of  course." 

"Does  the  wealthy  cousin  who  sent  him  here  and 
is  paying  his  expenses,  know  it?" 

"Naturally." 

"What  is  that  cousin's  name?" 

"His  name?    The  cousin's — er — name?" 

"Yes.  What  is  his  name  and  where  does  he 
live?" 

"He  lives — he  lives  ...  I  must  entreat 
you  to  pardon  me,  Miss  Adams,  but  I  cannot  tell 
you  that.  As  you  know — as  both  he  and  I  told  you 
when  he  first  came — that  cousin  wishes  to  remain  un 
known.  I  have  promised  not  to  reveal  his  identity. 
Really,  Miss  Adams,  I  think  we  should  go  now. 
We  can  continue  this  conversation  in  my  office." 

Still  she  did  not  move. 

"I  wonder,"  she  says,  slow,  "if  you  are  telling 
me  the  truth — now." 

312 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"The  truth!  My  dear  Miss  Adams!  Really 
j » 

"Yes,  the  truth.  Doctor  Wool,  I  am  troubled.  I 
have  been  troubled,  and  perplexed,  for  some  time. 
There  are  things  I  cannot  understand." 

"Indeed!  I  fear  you  are  neglecting  our  chief 
guides  here  in  this  little  haven  of  rest  and  true  liv 
ing.  You  are  not  thinking  right,  I  fear.  Remem 
ber,  thought  is  all,  and  as  we  think,  we  are." 

This  was  his  sheet  anchor,  generally  speaking. 
Give  out  from  the  pulpit  that  way,  with  his  big 
voice  rolling  and  purring,  it  usually  done  the  busi 
ness  for  the  person  that  tried  to  argue  with  him. 
But  now  the  anchor  dragged. 

"Oh,  don't!"  says  Miss  Emeline.  "Please  don't 
repeat  that  nonsense  now." 

"Nonsense !    My  dear  Miss " 

"Yes,  nonsense.  I  am  beginning  to  believe  it  is 
nonsense.  Doctor  Wool,  why  have  all  the  patients 
except  myself  and  Professor  Quill  and — and  Mr. 
Deacon,  left  this  sanitarium  of  yours." 

"Ours — ours,  Miss  Adams.  Without  you  it 
might  never  have  been." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  mine,  in  a  sense.  My  money 
financed  it.  But  why  did  all  these  people  leave ;  and 
leave  at  once?" 

"Some  were  cured;  some  were " 

313, 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

"Nonsense !  It  was  not  because  they  were  cured 
that  they  left.  Why  did  they — Colonel  Applegate 
in  particular — hint  to  me  that  there  was  something 
wrong  here.  They  did,  and  they  hinted  that  I 
would  learn  some  day  what  it  was.  And  here  is 
another  thing :  Why  does  it  cost  so  much  money  to 
keep  up  this  establishment?" 

"The — er — question  of  servants;  the — er — high 
cost  of  living;  the " 

"There  are  fewer  servants  now  than  ever.  And 
almost  no  patients.  Yet  you  ask  me  for  more  and 
larger  sums  of  money  all  the  time.  Only  yesterday 
you  asked  me  for  five  thousand  dollars.  I  can't  un 
derstand  it.  I  can't  afford  it.  My  bankers  tell  me 
my  income  will  be  seriously  impaired,  if  this  keeps 
on.  What  do  you  do  with  all  that  money?" 

I  thought  'twas  some  question  myself.  I  guess 
Deacon  did,  too,  for  I  felt  his  hand  tighten  on  my 
wrist.  The  Doctor  cleared  his  throat  afore  he  an 
swered. 

"Miss  Adams,"  he  purred,  "I  must  confess  that 
I  am  hurt.  Your  suspicions  hurt  me.  Knowing  my 
feeling  toward  you,  as  you  do — my  real  feeling,  my 
heart  yearning " 

"Don't!  Don't!  I  have  forbidden  you  to  speak 
of  that." 

"I  must  speak  of  it.    There  is  not  a  moment  of 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

my  life  that  I  do  not  think  it.  Miss  Adams — Erne- 
line " 

I  heard  her  move  now.  He  was  follering  her,  I 
judged. 

"Emeline,"  he  said,  "my  dear  Emeline,  why  do 
you  continue  to  misjudge  me?  And  repulse  me? 
You  know  that  my  one  ambition  in  life  is  to  be 
worthy  of  you.  Why  do  you  repulse  me  always? 
Why  not  yield  to  my  devotion  and  let  me  care  for 
you  through  life?  I  worship  you.  I " 

"Don't!  don't!"  she  cried.  "I  forbid  you  to 
touch  me.  I  have  told  you  that  I  could  never  marry 
you.  Months  ago,  when  I  trusted  you  absolutely, 

I  told  you  that.  And  now,  when  I Oh,  who 

is  it?" 

It  came  mighty  near  being  Lot  Deacon.  He  was 
shoving  his  way  past  me.  But  some  one  else  was 
in  that  other  room  ahead  of  him  afore  he  could 
open  our  door. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  says  Professor  Quill. 
"Miss  Adams — Doctor  Wool,  what  is  it?" 

He'd  come  along  the  hall  without  any  of  us  hear 
ing  him,  and  had  opened  the  door  of  the  "experi 
ment  room"  and  walked  in. 

"What  is  it?"  says  he  again,  his  meek  little  voice 
jumping.  "Miss  Adams,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  oh,  Jonathan!  I'm  so  glad  you  cameT 
315 


MR.   PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

panted  Miss  Emeline.  "I'm  so  glad!"  'Twas 
the  first  time  I'd  ever  heard  her  call  him  by 
his  first  name,  and  I  guess  she  didn't  know  she 
did  it. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Doctor,  what  were  you 
doing?  Why  don't  you  answer  me?" 

The  Doctor  answered.  Answered  pretty  cool, 
too,  considering  how  he'd  been  caught. 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,  Professor,"  he  said, 
soothing.  "Calm  yourself,  my  dear  sir.  Miss  Ad 
ams  and  I Well,  we  are  here,  as  you  see.  I 

felt  obliged  to  disclose  your  secret  to  her.  She  had 
surmised  it  already." 

"Then  you  know?"  His  voice  showed  how  ex 
cited  he  was.  "Then  you  know  about  it?  Did  he 
tell  you,  Emeline?" 

"I  told  her,"  purred  Wool.  "Don't  excite  your 
self,  I  beg." 

His  begging  wa'n't  much  use,  so  fur's  results 
went.  The  Professor  kept  right  on. 

"Then  you  know?"  he  asked  again. 

"Yes,  I  know.    He  told  me." 

"Of  the  process?  The  vulcanizing  process?  It 
is  new!  It  is  wonderful!  It  will  revolutionize  the 
vulcanizing  of  rubber,  make  it  as  hard  and  as  tough 
as  steel  almost  and  at  half  the  cost  of  the  old,  in 
ferior  way." 

316 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"She  knows,"  says  Wool,  hasty.  "She  knows. 
Let  us  not  speak  of  it  now." 

But  Miss  Emeline  seemed  to  want  to  speak  of  it. 

"Vulcanizing?"  she  said,  as  if  she  didn't  under 
stand.  "Hard  as  steel?  Why,  how  can  you  make 
water-proof  garments  as  hard  as  steel?" 

Wool  laughed,  or  tried  to.  "You  misunderstood 
me,"  he  began.  "I  said " 

Quill  cut  him  short.  "Garments,"  he  sang  out. 
"It  is  not  used  for  garments.  It  is  a  new  vulcan 
izing  process.  I  discovered  it,  myself.  It  is  not 
for  water-proofing  at  all.  It  is " 

"Hush!"  Miss  Emeline  took  her  turn  at  inter 
rupting.  "So!"  she  says,  slow,  and  speaking  to 
Wool,  I  judged;  "so!  this  is  another  falsehood — an 
other  one  of  your  lies,  is  it.  Don't  answer  me  yet. 
I  don't  wish  to  hear  you.  I  am  going  to  have  the 
truth  if  I  can  get  it.  Professor  Quill,  as  an  old 
friend  of  yours,  a — a  close  friend,  I  think " 

"Emeline!"    The  Professor  said  it. 

"Hush !"  she  says  again.  "Hush,  please.  I  want 
you  to  answer  me  truthfully,  Jonathan.  I  know 
you  will  if  I  ask  it.  Who  is  responsible  for  your 
being  here  and  at  work  in  this  room?  Is  it  your 
cousin — the  mysterious  cousin  we  have  all  heard 
about?  Or  is  it  that  man  there?" 

There  was  only  one  other  man  in  the  room,  so  I, 
317 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

for  my  part,  hadn't  any  trouble  guessing  who  she 
meant. 

"Quill,"  says  Wool,  dropping  his  purr  and  speak 
ing  sharp  and  quick,  "be  careful." 

The  Professor  was  stammering  something  or 
other. 

"Please,  Jonathan!"  begged  Miss  Emeline. 
"Please!  Oh,  don't  you  lie  to  me,  or  I  shall  never 
believe  there  is  a  truthful  person  in  the  world." 

That  done  the  business.  The  Professor's  voice 
shook. 

"I — I  will  not  lie,  Emeline,"  he  said.  "Doctor 
Wool  brought  me  here.  He  is  interested  in  my  in 
vention.  I  told  him  of  it  over  a  year  ago  and  proved 
to  him  that  I  was  on  the  right  track.  I  owe  so  much 
to  him.  He  is  backing  me  with  his  money.  He 
has  kept  me  here  and  furnished  me  with  the  ma 
terials  and  money  to  continue  experimenting.  He 

Doctor,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Forgive  me  for 

telling  her.  She  asked  me  and  I  couldn't  lie — to 
her." 

The  Doctor  couldn't  seem  to  find  words  to  an 
swer,  and  yet,  if  I'd  been  him,  I  should  have  cal'- 
lated  I'd  better  answer  then,  or  never.  Afore  he 
made  a  sound  Miss  Emeline  spoke. 

"He  has  backed  you — with  money?"  she  said. 
"He — with  his  money?  Why,  he  has  no  money! 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

I  have  been  supplying  him  with  money  to  support 
this  sanitarium.  And  so  much  money!  I  couldn't 
understand Oh!"  as  if  all  at  once  she  had  be 
gun  to  understand;  uO-oh!  is  it  possible!  Doctor 
Wool,  have  you  been  backing  Professor  Quill's  ex 
periment  with  my  money?  And  pretending  to  me 
that  it  was  needed  to  keep  this  sanitarium  from  be 
coming  bankrupt.  Is  this  where  all  the  thousands 
I  have  advanced  you  have  gone?  Is  it?  But  why 
— why?" 

If  she  was  knocked  over  by  it,  Quill  was  more  so. 

"Thousands!"  he  sung  out.  "Of  your  money! 
Yours,  Emeline !  Oh,  no !  no !  I  would  not  have 
taken  a  penny  of  your  money.  I  thought  it  was  his. 
The  experiments  were  too  great  a  risk.  I  never — 
never  would  have  permitted  you  to  risk  your  money 
in  them.  You — of  all  people !  The  Doctor  has  done 
it  on  his  own  responsibility.  I  warned  him,  but  he 
persisted  in  backing  me.  I  thought  it  was  his  kind 
ness  of  heart.  I  was  so  grateful  to  him.  But  not 
your  money,  Emeline !  No !  no !  And  not  thou 
sands  !  My  experiments  have  not  cost  one  thou 
sand." 

"But  he  has  had  thousands.  Where  have  they 
gone?" 

I  was  so  interested  in  all  this  that  I'd  forgot  I 
was  on  earth.  What  reminded  me  was  being  pushed 

319 


MR.   PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

pretty  nigh  off  of  it.  Lot  Deacon  gave  me  a  sliove 
that  sent  me  reeling,  flung  the  bedroom  door  open, 
and  walked  in. 

"I  guess  I  can  answer  that,  Emeline,"  he  said. 
"Wool,  you  damned  robber,  I'll  answer  that;  you 
needn't  bother." 

There  was  an  everlasting  commotion  in  that  other 
room.  While  'twas  going  on  I  walked  in,  too.  I 
didn't  see  why  I  should  be  the  only  animal  outside 
the  show.  My  coming  didn't  make  any  difference; 
nobody  noticed  me. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me  for  listening,  Eme 
line,"  says  Deacon.  "I  didn't  mean  to  first  along, 
but  I  couldn't  get  away.  Afterward  I  thought  I'd 
better  listen,  for  your  sake.  I'll  answer  that  black 
guard  there.  You,  Wool,  you  listen  to  me.  I  was 
onto  you  the  first  day  I  came  here.  I've  had  some 
experience  with  fakirs  and  scalawags  in  my  time, 
and  I  begun  to  suspect  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  you. 
Emeline,  I'll  tell  you  where  your  thousands  have 
gone  to.  That  cuss  there" — Miss  Emeline  shivered 
when  he  said  "cuss,"  but  she  looked  where  he 
pointed — "is  sharp  and  smart  enough;  I'll  say  that 
for  him.  Somehow  or  other  he  got  onto  the  Pro 
fessor's  vulcanizing  process  and  saw  what  was  in  it. 
It's  a  wonder,  I  do  believe,  and  properly  handled 
it'll  be  worth  millions  to  the  company  that  exploits 

320 


"*I  guess  I  can  answer  that,  Emeline,'  he  said." 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

it.  Wool  knew  that.  That's  why  he  fetched  Quill 
here  and  has  kept  him  hid;  so  no  one  else  would 
learn  of  the  process.  The  'mental  affliction'  was 
just  another  lie,  like  the  'mathematics'  and  the  'spe 
cial  exercises.'  Mental  affliction:  Humph!  Well* 
I'd  like  to  be  afflicted  the  same  way.  I'd  be  worth  a 
heap  more  than  I  am  now. 

"And  Wool "  he  goes  on.     "Shut  up,  you! 

Don't  you  open  your  head,  or  I'll  knock  it  off. 
This  Wool  has  been  forming  a  stock  company  with 
himself  at  the  head  of  it  and  holding  most  of  the 
stock.  That's  where  your  thousands  have  gone, 
Emeline.  Well,  what  is  it,  Professor?" 

Poor  Quill  was  white  as  a  sheet  and  wringing  both 
hands. 

"Oh,  it  can't  be  true!"  he  said.  "It  can't  be! 
Your  money,  Emeline,  yours!  It  is  lost,  and  I  am 
responsible!  //  And  I  had  hoped — I  had  hoped 
that  some  day  I  might  be  rich  and  could  come  to 
you  and  say " 

Miss  Emeline  said,  "Hush,  Jonathan,"  and 
stopped  him  from  saying  what  he'd  meant  to  say. 
What  it  was  I  could  guess,  and  I  saw  Deacon  look 
at  'em  both  pretty  sharp.  As  for  Doctor  Wool,  he; 
laughed,  laughed  scornful  and  top-lofty. 

"This  is  ridiculous,  quite,"  he  said.  "My  dear 
Miss  Adams,  I  fear  our  new  patient  has  been 

321 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

tarrying  with  the  wine  cup  during  his  absence. 
I  will  explain  to  you  later  on,  when  we  are  free 
from  interlopers  and  lunatics,  and — er — eaves 
droppers." 

He  started  to  march  out  of  the  room,  but  Lot 
(stopped  him. 

"You  wait  a  minute,"  says  he.  "I've  got  just  a 
word  or  two  more  to  say  to  you.  I've  been  looking 
up  your  record.  I  know  why  you  got  out  of  the 
patent-medicine  game.  I  know  how  near  you  came 
to  going  to  state's  prison  when  the  Government 
analyzed  your  doped  'Willow  Wine'  and  the  rest 
of  it.  And,  by  the  Almighty,  you'll  go  there  yet — 
for  swindling — if  you  don't  clear  off  these  premises 
inside  of  twelve  hours.  I'll  give  you  until  noon  to- 
.morrow  to  skip  for  good.  Now  get!" 

Lysander  looked  at  him.  "And  suppose  I  don't 
choose  to  'get'  I"  he  sneers. 

Deacon  smiled,  in  a  sort  of  joyful  anticipation,  as 
you  might  say. 

"Then  there'll  be  some  damaged  Wool  in  this 
,  neighborhood,"  says  he.  "Why,  you  fakir!  you 
;  swindler  of  sick  women!  you " 

He  b'iled  right  over,  and  the  tongue-lashing  he 
give  that  boss  Right  Liver  beat  anything  ever  I  lis 
tened  to.  There  was  a  heap  of  Scriptur'  language 
in  it,  and  more  brimstone  than  you'd  find  in  a  match 

322 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

factory.  7  didn't  mind — I  was  having  a  good  time 
— but  poor  Miss  Emeline  shrivelled  and  shivered. 

"Oh,  Lot!"  says  she,  and  started  to  go.  Pro 
fessor  Quill  jumped  for'ard  and  offered  her  his  arm. 
They  left  the  room  together,  and  Wool  left,  too,  but 
he  went  the  other  way;  Deacon  saw  to  it  that  he 
didn't  foller  'em. 

"Whew!"  says  that  South  American  ex-whaler, 
mopping  his  forehead.  "Whew!  Well,  I  feel  some 
better,  anyhow.  Come  on,  Pratt;  let's  have  a 
smoke." 

"But — but  don't  you  think  you'd  better  go  to 
Miss  Emeline?"  says  I.  "Maybe  she  needs  you." 

He  looked  down  the  hall.  Miss  Emeline  and 
Quill  were  just  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  he  helping 
her  and  she  leaning  heavy  on  his  arm. 

Deacon  turned  to  me. 

"Come  on  and  have  that  smoke,"  says  he. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HE  told  Eureka  and  me  all  about  it  later  on, 
where  he'd  been  and  how  he  did  what  he 
called  "getting  onto  Wool's  little  game," 
and  the  whole  thing.  'Twas  my  suggestion  that  he 
go  to  Providence  and  hunt  up  Applegate  that  had 
helped  him  most.  The  Colonel  had  found  out  a 
little  of  Doc  Lysander's  record  on  his  Brick  Com 
pany  annual  meeting  trip  to  Boston,  and  'twas  that 
that  had  made  him  decide  to  quit  the  sanitarium. 
He'd  dropped  a  hint  to  the  other  patients,  too,  and 
they'd  left  on  account  of  it.  'Twas  through  the 
Colonel  that  Deacon  had  got  onto  the  forming  of 
that  stock  company.  That  Wool  was  trying  to  form 
some  kind  of  a  company  they  learned,  but  just  what 
'twas  for  they  couldn't  be  sure.  So  Deacon  had 
come  back  to  the  Rest  shop  determined  to  get  into 
the  Professor's  room  by  hook  or  by  crook,  and  settle 
the  question.  Well,  he  had;  there  wa'n't  no  doubt 
about  that. 

I  thought,  of  course,  that  Eureka  would  pretty 
nigh  have  a  shock  of  paralysis  when  she  found  out 
that  Lysander  the  Great,  her  idol  and  pet  healer  of 

324 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

all  creation,  was  just  a  common  swindler  and  black 
guard.  But  she  didn't;  when  she  and  I  talked  it 
over  she  took  it  surprising  cool. 

"I  ain't  so  much  surprised  as  you'd  think,"  she 
says,  sighing.  "I  ain't  liked  the  way  he's  acted  for 
ever  so  long.  And  one  time,  a  couple  of  weeks  ago, 
I  heard  him  talking  to  Lord  James,  when  they 
thought  nobody  was  around,  and  what  he  said  then 
didn't  sound  good  to  me.  I  never  mentioned  it,  for 
what  was  the  use?  But  I  ain't  so  terrible  astonished. 
You  know  what  I  believe?  I  believe  that  Hopper 
man  knew  more  about  it  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us." 

"Hopper!"  I  sung  out.  "He  know  about  it! 
Rubbish!" 

"No,  'tain't  rubbish.  After  the  way  he  treated 
his  wife  I'd  believe  anything  bad  of  him." 

I  laughed  out  loud.  "Ho !  ho !"  says  I.  "Eureka, 
your  romances  ain't  working  out  according  to 
Home  Comforter  rules,  and  you're  put  out  on  ac 
count  of  it.  That's  what's  the  matter  with  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  care,"  she  says.  "Anybody  that  would 
run  away  and  leave  his  poor  foreign  wife  to  starve 
is  no  good." 

I  laughed  again.  "Starve!"  says  I.  "She 
wouldn't  starve.  'Twould  take  a  regiment  of  mi- 
lishy  to  keep  her  from  eating,  if  she  was  hungry. 

325 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

The  only  wonder  to  me  is  that  he  could  run  fast 
enough  to  get  away  from  her.  Why  do  you  cal'late 
he  married  her  in  the  first  place?" 

"Maybe  she  married  him"  she  says,  and  I  agreed 
that  that  was  most  likely  it. 

"Speaking  of  marrying,"  says  I,  "I  suppose  Miss 
Emeline'll  be  Mrs.  Deacon  pretty  soon." 

She  nodded. 

"Yes,"  I  went  on,  "I  presume  likely  she  will. 
Well,  she's  getting  a  mighty  able  man,  if  you  asked 
me." 

And  again  all  she  done  was  nod.  Didn't  seem 
to  want  to  talk  on  that  subject,  and  I  thought  she'd 
be  crazy  to  talk  about  it. 

"The  poor  old  Professor  won't  be  poor  much 
longer,"  I  said.  "Deacon  is  wild  over  that  vulcan 
izing  process  of  his.  He's  going  to  back  the  old 
chap  in  putting  it  on  the  market,  and  they'll  both 
of  'em  be  millionaires,  if  half  of  what  Lot  says  is 
true.  He  ought  to  know;  he's  been  in  the  rubber 
trade  for  a  long  spell." 

That  made  her  eyes  flash.  "Is  Mr.  Deacon  go 
ing  to  do  that?"  she  says.  "Oh,  ain't  he  a  wonder 
ful  man!" 

"Sartin  is.  Well,  Eureka,  there's  one  of  your 
romances — his  and  Miss  Emeline's — that  is  work 
ing  out  right.  You  ought  to  be  tickled  over  that." 

326 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

She  said  yes,  she  was;  but  she  didn't  look  at  me 
when  she  said  it.  I  couldn't  make  her  out  on  that 
line. 

All  that  day  Wool  kept  in  his  rooms,  and  nobody 
went  nigh  him.  His  twelve-hour  limit  was  more 
than  up,  and  I  rather  expected  Deacon  would  put 
him  off  the  premises  by  main  strength,  but  he  didn't. 
I  hardly  saw  Lot  nor  Miss  Emeline  nor  Professor 
Quill  during  that  day;  they  kept  to  themselves, 
seemed  so.  And  Doctor  Wool  kept  to  his. 

But  after  supper  I  saw  him,  or  he  saw  me.  I 
was  standing  in  the  pines  by  the  gate  looking  down 
the  road  in  the  dusk,  and  wondering  who  was  com 
ing  along  that  road  with  a  horse  and  team.  I 
couldn't  see  the  team,  but  I  could  hear  the  wheels 
and  horse's  hoofs.  'Twas  awful  still  and  a  rattle 
and  thump  like  that  would  carry  half  a  mile. 

I  was  leaning  over  the  fence,  looking  and  listen 
ing,  when  I  heard  a  step  astern  of  me.  I  turned, 
and  there  was  Doctor  Wool,  a  suit  case  in  one  hand 
and  a  bag  in  the  other.  He  saw  me  at  the  same 
time. 

"Evening,   Doctor,"   says  I. 

"Ah — er — good  evening,   Pratt,  good  evening." 

He  said  it  as  natural  as  life.  Just  as  grand  and 
condescending  and  purry  as  ever.  You'd  have 
thought  I  was  some  kind  of  a  bug  or  hoptoad  or 

327 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

something,  that  he  might  have  trod  on  if  he'd 
wanted  to,  but  didn't  because  of  his  kind  heart. 
There  wa'n't  a  flutter  in  his  voice,  nor  a  letdown  in 
his  majesty.  Yet  I  knew  now  what  he  was  and  he 
knew  I  knew. 

"A  beautiful  evening,"  says  he,  patting  the 
weather  on  the  head,  so  to  speak. 

"Yes,  'tis  fine  enough,"  I  told  him. 

"You  was — er — admiring  the  stars?" 

"No-o,  not  exactly.  Ain't  many  stars  out  yet. 
I  was  wondering  whose  horse  and  buggy  this  was 
coming  down  the  road." 

"A  horse?    And  a  buggy?    Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  see." 

I  could  see,  too,  by  this  time. 

"Wonder  if  whoever  'tis  is  coming  here,"  says  I. 

He  smiled.  "I  imagine  so,"  he  answered.  "I 
imagine  so — yes.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  that  is 
the  vehicle  which  I  ordered,  by  'phone,  from  the 
livery  stable." 

"You  ordered?    Why "    And  then  I  noticed 

the  dunnage  he  was  carrying,  and  the  idee  that  he 
was  clearing  out  came  acrost  my  mind.  "You  or 
dered,  hey?"  says  I.  "Going  to  leave  us,  are  you, 
Doc?" 

He  smiled  again.  "I  am  going  away — for;  a 
time,"  he  answered. 

"Sho  I  I  want  to  know  1" 
328 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

"You  do  know.  Therefore  your  observation  is  a 
trifle  superfluous.  Avoid  superfluities,  Pratt;  un 
less  you  can  make  them  worth  while.  Ah,  Simeon, 
is  that  you?" 

Simeon — his  last  name  was  Smalley — was  the 
chap  that  worked  in  the  livery  stable.  He  pulled 
up  alongside  the  gate. 

"Simeon,"  says  Doctor  Wool,  "you  are  on  time, 
are  you  not.  That  is  well.  Punctuality  is  a  great 
aid  in  this  life  of  ours.  I  admire  you  for  it,  Simeon." 

Simeon's  chest  swelled  out  at  that,  as  if  he'd 
been  praised  by  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

"I  generally  cal'late  to  be  prompt,"  says  he,  vain 
glorious. 

"I  am  sure  you  do.  My  valise — and  my  bag — 
may  I  trouble  you?" 

'Twa'n't  a  mite  of  trouble,  you  could  see  that. 
Simeon  jumped  for  the  dunnage  and  started  to  stow 
it  in  the  buggy.  I  was  grinning  to  myself.  In  his 
way,  Lysander  the  Great  was  great  even  yet. 

"Well,  so  long,  Doctor,"  says  I.  "We  sha'n't 
forget  you.  And  you  mustn't  forget  your  motto. 
Think  right,  that's  the  thing,  you  know.  If  you 
think  right,  you'll  probably  be  all  right;  anyhow, 
I'd  risk  you  in  the  average  crowd." 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  me,  as  if  he  was  won 
dering  whether  to  say  what  was  in  his  mind  or  not. 

329 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

And  then  he  said  it.  For  just  one  second  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  real  Wool,  underneath  the  purr  and 
the  padding.  He  put  his  mouth  close  to  my  ear. 

"There  is  another  motto  I  have  found  helpful  in 

,  this  world,"  he  whispers.     "It  has  helped  me  before 

and  I  rather  guess  I  can  depend  on  it  yet.    I'll  pass 

it  on  to  you,  Pratt.     This  is  it:    'There's  an  easy 

mark  born   every  minute '     Ah,   Simeon,  you 

are  ready,  I  see.  Very  good,  so  am  I.  Good-bye, 
Pratt.  Good-bye.  Drive  on,  Simeon." 

Simeon  drove  on.  And  that's  the  last  I'm  ever 
likely  to  see  of  Doctor  Lysander  P.  Wool.  But  I 
sha'n't  forget  him  very  soon. 

When  I'd  got  over  the  effects  of  that  new  "mot 
to"  of  his,  I  headed  for  the  kitchen  to  tell  Eureka. 
She  was  alone  there. 

"Eureka,"  I  sung  out,  busting  with  the  news. 
"He's  gone.  He's  skipped.  He " 

I  hadn't  got  any  further  than  that  when  I  was 
interrupted.  The  dining-room  door  opened  and  in 
came  Miss  Emeline.  She  was  all  shaky  and  white 
and  she  had  an  envelope  and  a  little  package  in  her 
hand.  She  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  me,  but  went 
straight  over  to  Eureka. 

"Is  Mr.  Deacon  here?"  she  asked. 

She  could  see  he  wasn't  there,  of  course,  but  she 
asked  it  just  the  same. 

330 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

Eureka  shook  her  head.  I  guess  she  noticed  how 
queer  Miss  Emeline  looked,  same  as  I  was  notic 
ing  it. 

"Has  he  been  here?  Do  you  know  where  he 
is?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  says  Eureka. 

"I  ain't  seen  him  since  noon,"  says  I. 

"He  will  be  here  soon,  I  am  sure.  He  may  have 
gone  over  to  the  village.  When  he  comes  I — will 
you  give  him  these,  please?" 

She  put  the  envelope  and  the  package  on  the 
table.  Eureka  and  I  looked  at  them  and  then  at 
her. 

"Why — why,  yes'm,"  stammered  Eureka,  "I'll 
give  'em  to  him,  if  he  comes.  But  maybe  you'll  see 
him  afore  I  do.  He " 

"No,  no,  I  shall  not.  I — I  am  going  to  my  room 
and  I  shall  not  see  anyone.  Give  them  to  him, 
please.  Oh,  please  do !  Good  night." 

She  was  out  of  that  kitchen  like  a  shot.  The  door 
banged  after  her.  Eureka  and  I  stared  at  each 
other. 

"Well!"  says  Eureka.  "Well,  I  never  in  my 
life!  What  do  you  suppose  made  her  act  that 
way?" 

I  couldn't  answer;  'twas  long  past  supposing. 
And  just  then  another  door  opened,  the  back  one 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

this  time,  and  into  the  kitchen  come  the  very  per 
son  Miss  Emeline  had  been  asking  about — Lot  Dea 
con  himself.  And  if  you'll  believe  it,  he  looked 
full  as  pale  and  shook  up  as  she  had.  And  his 
first  question  was,  names'  excepted,  just  what  hers 
had  been. 

"Is  Emeline — Miss  Adams — -here?"  he  wanted 
to  know. 

Eureka  shook  her  head.  "No,"  says  she.  "But 
she  has " 

He  didn't  wait  for  her  to  answer. 

"That's  good!"  he  says.  "That's  good.  I  was 
afraid  she  might  be.  I  couldn't  see  her  now;  I 
couldn't." 

He  come  to  anchor  in  a  chair,  took  off  his  tall 
hat — 'twas  the  first  time  I'd  seen  him  wear  it  since 
he  first  come  and  Miss  Emeline  asked  him  not  to — 
and  chucked  it  on  the  floor  as  if  it  had  been  the 
commonest  old  slouch  that  ever  was. 

"Oh!"  squeals  Eureka,  horrified,  and  makes  a 
dive  for  the  hat,  picks  it  up,  and  starts  brushing  it. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Deacon?" 
says  I. 

He  didn't  seem  to  hear  me.  In  fact,  all  through 
what  happened  right  after  this  he  never  seemed  to 
sense  that  I  was  in  the  room  at  all. 

"Eureka,"  he  pants,  mopping  his  forehead  with 

332 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

the  silk  handkerchief,  "I've  come  to  say  good-Hye. 
I'm  going  away." 

And  now  'twas  Eureka's  turn  to  get  pale.  She 
dropped  the  hat  on  the  table  and  clasped  her  hands. 

"Going  away!"  she  says.  "Going  away?  Not 
s — not  for  good?" 

"Yes,  for  good.  My  Lord!  I've  got  to.  I've 
got  to.  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  I've  tried 
and  tried.  I've  said  to  myself  that  I  must  stay. 
Over  and  over  again  I've  said  it.  But  I  can't.  I'm 
going." 

Poor  Eureka  kept  clasping  her  hands  and  un 
clasping  'em.  "But — but  Miss  Emeline,"  she  gasps. 
"How " 

"I  know.  Don't  I  know?  I'm  treating  her  like 
a  low-down  rascal,  but  I've  got  to  do  it.  And 
sometimes  I  think  she  won't  feel  so  bad,  after  all. 
It'll  be  a  shock  to  her  at  first,  but  she'll  get  over  it. 
It's  all  a  mistake,  this  coming  back  of  mine,  any 
how.  She  ain't  what  she  used  to  be  and  neither 
am  I.  We've  both  changed.  I  ain't  fit  for  her. 
/  ain't  had  any  Boston  training.  /  ain't  got  any 
high  family  connections.  /  don't  use  good  gram 
mar.  When  I  get  mad  I  swear,  swear  like  the  devil. 
I  don't  mean  nothing  by  it;  everybody  cusses  on  a 
rubber  plantation.  But  she  don't  understand.  When 
I  ripped  that  Wool  crook  up  the  back  last  night, 

333 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

she  was  scandalized.  This  morning  she  wouldn't 
hardly  speak  to  me.  Said  she  was  grateful  for  all 
I'd  done,  and  she  was,  too;  but — but  that  ain't  it. 
We  ain't  fitted  for  each  other.  She  hadn't  ought 
to  marry  me  and — and,  by  the  Almighty — I  can't 
marry  her.  There!  That's  the  truth  and  I'm 
darned  glad  to  get  it  off  my  chest." 

I  couldn't  say  nothing;  this  was  too  many  for 
me.  I  just  stood  and  gaped,  with  my  mouth  open. 
However,  if  I'd  stood  on  my  head  'twouldn't  have 
made  any  difference  to  that  Lot  man;  'twa'n't  me 
he  was  talking  to. 

"Oh,  Eureka,"  he  went  on,  one  word  tumbling 
over  the  one  in  front  of  it,  he  was  so  worked  up; 
"Oh,  Eureka,  you  mustn't  think  I'm  going  to  de 
sert  her.  I  ain't.  I'm  going  to  see  that  she  gets 
her  share  of  my  money,  just  the  same  as  if  I  had 
married  her.  And  I'm  going  to  look  out  for  old 
Quill  and  his  invention.  I'll  make  him  rich  afore 
I  get  through,  same  as  I  said  I  would.  But  I 
sha'n't  stay  here.  I  can't.  You  don't  know  what 
I've  been  through  since  I  landed  in  this  place.  I 
hate  to  go.  In  one  way  I  can't  hardly  bear  to  go. 
I  hate  to  leave  you.  You're  a  nice  girl.  You're 
my  idea  of  a  girl.  Why,  if  'twas  you,  I  could  plan 
for  Paris  and  all  that,  same  as  I  used  to  plan  for — 
her.  And  how  I  used  to  plan  it,  poor  fool  that  I 

334 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

was!  I'd  see  us  walking  together  down  them  bou 
levards  at  night,  with  the  lamps  a-shining,  same  as 
I've  really  seen  'em  time  and  time  again.  And  the 
bands  playing  and  the  folks  laughing  and  the  shows 
going  on.  Whew!" 

He  stopped — for  breath,  I  shouldn't  wonder. 
Eureka's  cheeks  were  red  again  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  with  the  thought  of  all  those  wonderful 
things. 

"Mustn't  it  be  lovely?"  says  she. 

"That's  it.  You'd  appreciate  it.  If  'twas  you, 
now,  what  a  time  we'd  have,  hey?  You  with  that 
long  sealskin  and  the  diamonds  and  the  jewelry  I'd 
give  you.  You'd  look  fine  in  'em,  too;  not  like  a 
clothespin.  And  me  all  dressed  up  to  beat  the  cars 
and  with  money  in  my  pocket.  Nothing  we  couldn't 
have.  Nothing  too  dear  for  us  to  buy.  And 

we'd  see  it  all,  you  and  me,  and Why! 

Why,  for  Heaven  sakes!  What  are  you  doing? 
Crying?" 

Eureka  had  been  looking  at  him,  her  lips  trem 
bling.  Now,  all  at  once,  she  dropped  into  a  chair 
by  the  table,  put  her  head  on  her  arms,  and  began 
to  sob  as  if  her  heart  was  broke.  I  started  towards 
her,  but  Lot  Deacon  got  there  first. 

"What  are  you  crying  for,  Eureka?"  he  sung 
out.  "Good  Lord!  Good  Lord!  You — you  ain't 

335 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

crying  about  me?  You  don't  feel  as  bad  as  that 
because  I'm  going,  do  you?" 

She  only  sobbed  and  sobbed. 

"Great  heavens  above!  Do  you  care,  Eureka? 
Do  you?  Would  you  go  to  Paris  with  me?  You 
shall  have  the  sealskin  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I  like 
you.  I  like  you  a  heap.  Why — why,  one  reason  I 
couldn't  bring  myself  to  marry  Emeline  was  be 
cause  I'd  come  to  like  you  so.  Come  on!  I  mean 
it.  Say  the  word  and  you'll  be  Mrs.  Lot  Deacon 
afore  to-morrow's  half  over.  Yes,  to-night,  if  you'll 
only  say  it.  We'll  go  to  the  parson's  in  the  village 

and Do  you  care,  Eureka?  Would  you  be 

willing  to  heave  yourself  away  on  an  old  rough, 
tough  feller  like  me?" 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  I?"  she  breathed,  sort  of  as  it 
she'd  got  a  glimpse  of  glory. 

He  bent  over  her  and But  there!  I  didn't 

see  any  more,  nor  hear  any  more,  neither.  I  wat 
out  of  that  kitchen  by  this  time.  'Cording  to  my 
notion,  I'd  seen  and  heard  too  much  already. 

They  hunted  me  up  by  and  by  and  found  m* 
hanging  over  the  fence,  holding  my  head  on  with 
both  hands.  When  that  bombshell  bust  I  thought 
it  had  pretty  nigh  blowed  it  off. 

"Come  into  the  house,"  says  Eureka.  "Come  in 
336 


MR.   PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

quick,  Mr.  Pratt.  Lot — Mr.  Deacon,  I  mean — has 
got  something  to  show  you." 

"Lot's  the  right  name,"  crowed  the  Deacon  man. 
"Don't  you  go  putting  any  Misters  on  me.  Come 
on,  Pratt.  I've  got  a  surprise  for  you  now  that 
beats  any  you've  struck  yet." 

I  didn't  believe  it,  but  I  followed  him.  On  the 
kitchen  table  was  the  package  and  the  envelope  Miss 
Emeline  had  left.  Both  of  'em  had  been  opened. 

"See  that,  do  you?"  says  Deacon.  "See  that,  do 
you,  Pratt,  old  horse?  What  is  it?" 

I  knew  what  it  was,  all  right.  You  couldn't  mis 
take  it  if  you  had  eyes  in  your  head.  'Twas  that 
diamond  headlight  ring  he'd  bought  for  Miss  Eme 
line. 

"What  is  it?"  says  he  again. 

"It's  Miss  Emeline's  ring,  ain't  it?"  says  I. 

He  laughed  out  loud.  "No,  'tain't,"  he  crowed. 
"It  was  hers;  now  it's  Eureka's.  Here!  you  read 
that." 

'Twas  the  note  Miss  Emeline  had  put  into  that 
envelope.  I  read  it,  and  this  was  it: 

DEAR  LOT: 

I  don't  know  what  you  will  think  of  me.  I 
cannot  say  it  myself  and  so  I  write  it  here,  I 
cannot  marry  you.  I  simply  cannot.  You  are  a 

337 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

good  man,  a  good,  kind-hearted  man,  and  I  am 
very,  very  grateful  to  you  for  all  you  have  done 
for  me  and  for  Professor  Quill.  You  must  not 
think  I  do  not  appreciate  that ;  I  do ;  I  do.  But 

0  Lot,  I  cannot  marry  you.    We  should  not  be 
happy  together.     I  know  it,  and,  down  in  your 
heart,  I  think  you  know  it,  too.     Your  coming 
back  to  me  was  wonderful.     It  was  like  you. 
But  it  was  a  mistake  and,  if  you  do  not  think 
so  now,  you  will  some  day.    We  have  changed, 
you  and  I,  in  all  the  years  of  separation,  and 
my  ways  are  not  your  ways  any  more.     Please 
go.     It  is  better  we  should  not  meet  again,  for 
my  mind  is  made  up  and  I  shall  not  change  it. 

1  give  you  back  your  ring.     Please  forgive  me, 
please,  and  do  not  think  too  harshly  of  one  who 
will  always  be 

Your  friend, 

EMELINE  ADAMS. 

P.  S. — There  is  another  reason  for  my  writ 
ing  this  and  I  am  going  to  give  you  that 
reason.  Professor  Quill  wishes  me  to  marry 
him  and  I  am  going  to  do  it.  He  and  I  have 
known  each  other  for  a  long  time  and  he  has 
become  very  dear  to  me. 

"There  1"  whooped  Lot  Deacon.  "There!  Now 
everybody's  conscience  is  clear  and  we're  all  happy. 
Hey,  Pratt?  Shake  hands." 

We  shook  hands,  and  we  shook  hard.  Eureka's 
338 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

pretty  face  was  all  streaked  with  tear-marks,  but 
she  smiled  through  'em  like  a  rainbow. 

"But  think,"  she  says,  "only  think  of  her  giving 
up  a  lover  like  him  for  one  like  old  Mr.  Quilll" 


Ah,  well,  that  was  last  September,  and  now  it's 
April  once  more.  A  pile  of  things  have  happened 
since  that  night  in  the  kitchen. 

Lot  and  Eureka  and  the  Professor  and  Miss 
Emeline  are  married.  The  Deacons  have  been 
pretty  much  all  over  creation  since,  and,  judging 
by  Mrs.  D.'s  letters,  he  and  she  have  enjoyed  the 
real  Paris  and  the  rest  of  it  full  as  much  as  they 
did  day-dreaming  about  'em.  The  Quills  are  up  to 
Brookline,  the  vulcanizing  invention  has  been  in 
corporated  and  there's  a  whacking  big  factory  being 
put  up  in  East  Cambridge.  Neither  Jonathan  nor 
his  wife  will  have  to  worry  about  finances,  I  cal'late, 
even  if  a  dozen  wolves  in  Wool's  clothing  turned 
up  to  rob  'em.  Lot  Deacon  is  president  of  the  new 
company  and  Colonel  Applegate  is  on  the  board  of 
directors. 

Young  Clayton  Saunders  is  head  man  in  Apple- 
gate's  broker  place  in  Providence.  The  Colonel 
said  any  feller  that  could  pull  a  trick  like  that  one 
Clayton  pulled  by  keeping  him  in  that  Doane  shanty 

339 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

and  buying  Porcelain  Brick  Common  at  the  lowest 
figger  it's  ever  struck,  was  too  good  a  financier  for 
any  other  firm  to  get  a  hold  of.  Clayton  and  his 
wife — her  that  was  Miss  Hortense  Todd — are 
mighty  happy  together,  I  understand.  Mother-in- 
law,  Mrs.  Evangeline  Cordova,  is  traveling  in  the 
Holy  Land,  and  perhaps  that  accounts  for  some  of 
the  happiness.  It's  kind  of  rough  on  the  Holy 
Land,  though,  the  way  I  look  at  it. 

Nate  Scudder  and  Huldy  Ann  never  collected  that 
reward  for  fetching  Lord  James's  missing  bride 
back  to  him.  They  had  trouble  enough  getting  rid 
of  the  "  'ummer"  to  last  'em  one  while.  She 
wouldn't  go  for  almost  a  fortni't;  seemed  to  think 
Nate  had  her  husband  hid  around  the  premises;  and 
'twa'n't  until  Nate  got  the  constable  and  a  passel  of 
men  to  put  her  out  that  she  quit.  Even  then  they 
had  to  haul  her  out  by  main  strength,  and  the  hol 
lering  she  done  and  the  furniture  she  smashed  has 
made  talk  enough  to  last  Wapatomac  all  winter. 
Nate's  still  threatening  to  sue  somebody  for  some 
thing  or  other,  but  he  ain't  collected  a  cent.  I  told 
him  he  could  take  the  damages  out  of  that  "bill" 
of  mine,  but  even  that  didn't  seem  to  satisfy  him. 
Christina  boarded  the  cars  for  Boston  and  none  of 
the  Cape  Codders  has  seen  her  since.  I  don't  doubt 
she's  got  a  job,  though,  working  in  somebody's  fam- 

340 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

ily.  If  she  once  got  it  she  wouldn't  let  go  of  it,  I 
bet  you.  How  Lord  James  ever  managed  to  lose 
her  beats  me.  I've  had  more  respect  for  him  ever 
since  I  saw  her,  on  that  account. 

I've  heard  of  him  just  once  since  he  ran  out  of 
Scudder's  parlor.  That  once  was  last  week.  Ed 
Baker's  oldest  boy,  over  to  Wellmouth,  has  a  job 
on  one  of  the  New  York  and  Baltimore  boats,  sec 
ond  mate,  he  is — a  pretty  good  job  for  such  a 
young  feller.  He  was  home  last  week  on  a  vacation, 
and  he  says  to  me : 

"Say,  Sol,"  he  says,  "I  run  afoul  of  an  old  ac 
quaintance  of  yours  in  Baltimore  two  trips  ago.  I 
didn't  exactly  run  afoul  of  him,  but  I  saw  him.  I 
was  on  an  electric  car  and  he  came  out  of  one  of 
the  big  hotels  just  as  I  was  passing.  'Twas  that 
English  chap,  the  long-legged  one  with  the  half- 
mast  side  whiskers,  that  used  to  work  for  you  and 
Hartley  and  Van  Brunt  over  on  Horsefoot  Bar  that 
summer,  four  or  five  years  ago.  I  hadn't  seen  him 
since  then,  but  I  knew  him  in  a  minute.  He's  got 
a  job,  I  guess,  for  he  was  carrying  two  fat  valises 
for  a  big,  fleshy,  pompous  feller  that  walked  as  if 
he  owned  all  creation,  and  had  a  voice  like  an  old- 
fashioned  melodeon.  He  hailed  a  cab — the  pom 
pous  feller  did — and  I  heard  the  voice.  'Twa'n't 
one  you'd  forget  in  a  hurry." 

341 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

That  made  me  wonder  if  the  man  with  the  voice 
could  have  been  Doctor  Lysander  P.  Wool.  If  it 
was,  and  His  Lordship  was  with  him,  there  might 
have  been  some  sense  in  what  Eureka  said  about 
their  being  thick  and  confidential  at  the  sanatarium. 
Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  Baltimore  better 
look  out,  that's  all.  That  pair,  working  together, 
is  enough  to  make  a  blind  beggar  put  his  pennies  in 
his  inside  pocket. 

So  much  for  all  hands  connected  with  Sea  Breeze 
Bluff  Sanitarium  for  Right  Living  and  Rest,  except 
me.  And  I — well,  I'm  beginning  to  have  a  heap 
more  faith  in  tea-leaf  fortune-telling  than  I  did  one 
time.  When  Sophrony  Gott  saw  that  money  com 
ing  to  me  in  the  teacup  she  sartin  had  her  specs  on, 
or  else  she's  the  best  guesser  in  creation. 

First  thing  that  made  me  set  up  and  take  notice 
was  a  letter  from  Colonel  Applegate.  Inside  it  was 
a  certificate  for  ten  shares  of  Consolidated  Porce 
lain  Brick  stock. 

"From  Saunders  and  me,"  he  wrote.  "If  it  hadn't 
been  for  you,  Pratt,  we  should  neither  of  us  have 
made  money  on  that  deal.  Keep  it.  If  you  dare  to 
send  it  back  we'll  come  down  and  shut  you  up  in 
Doane's  shanty  and  feed  you  on  salt  mackerel  for  a 
month." 

So  I  kept  it,  though  I  didn't  feel  as  if  I'd  ought 
342 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

to,  and  every  time  the  dividends  come  in  I'm  sort 
of  ashamed  to  take  'em.  Yet  I  don't  know  but  I've 
earned  'em,  in  a  way.  If  I  hadn't  swum  out  to  that 
drifting  skiff,  the  Consolidated  Company  might 
have  been  a  president  short,  and  if  I  hadn't  run 
the  Dora  Bassett  onto  that  Bayport  flat,  Clayton 
Saunders  might  not  have  had  a  wife. 

But  that  ain't  all.  Lot  Deacon  writes  me  that 
I'm  to  be  a  shareholder  in  the  vulcanizing  business. 
"You've  earned  it,"  says  he.  "  'Twas  you  that  gave 
me  the  tip  to  see  Applegate  about  Wool.  And  'twas 
you  that  was  with  me  in  that  kitchen  when  I  got 
the  best  wife  on  earth.  No  price  is  high  enough 
for  anybody  connected  with  that  piece  of  luck,  and 
don't  you  forget  it." 

And,  to  cap  the  whole  thing,  Miss  Emeline  has 
put  me  in  charge  of  the  whole  of  her  property  at 
Wapatomac,  house,  land,  and  all  the  sanitarium 
furniture  and  fixings.  She  says  she  never  cares  to 
come  there  again.  "There  are  pleasant  memories 
connected  with  it,  but  so  many  that  are  unpleasant 
and  that  I  wish  to  forget.  I  don't  wish  to  sell  it, 
but  I  know  you  will  take  care  of  it  and  keep  it  up, 
Solomon.  So  please  take  it,  for  my  sake." 

She  won't  take  any  rent,  so  you  see,  from  being 
flat  broke,  I've  come  to  be  a  landholder  and  a  stock 
holder  and  mercy  knows  what  all.  There's  only  one 

343 


MR.    PRATT'S    PATIENTS 

trouble,  and  that  is  that  hard  cash  is  middling  source, 
even  yet.  I  can't  sell  my  land  nor  my  house  nor  my 
stocks,  and  it  costs  like  fury  to  live  up  to  'em. 

Eleazir  Kendrick,  my  old  partner  in  the  fish-weir 
business,  and  me  have  thought  serious  of  opening 
up  the  ex-sanitarium  as  a  summer  boarding  house 
for  city  folks.  We  may  do  it;  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  we  did.  //  we  do,  I  wonder  what  sort  of  freaks'll 
come  to  stop  with  us.  They  can't  beat  the  Right 
Livers  for  freakiness,  though;  nobody  could  do 
that. 

"And  anyhow,"  I  says  to  Eleazir,  "I  ain't  real 
sure  that  it's  safe  to  stay  in  this  neighborhood. 
Philander  Doane,  the  hermit  chap,  has  sent  me 
word  that  he  bought  a  first-class  violin  with  the 
money  Saunders  and  Applegate  give  him,  and  he's 
got  so  he  can  play  it  fine.  'Tell  Sol  Pratt,'  he 
sent  word,  'that  it  come  natural  to  me  to  play 
it,  just  the  same  as  playing  the  concertina  done. 
Tell  him  I'm  coming  over  some  day  and  play 
for  him.' 

"So  you  see,"  I  says  to  Eleazir,  "that  maybe  the 
safest  thing  for  me  to  do  is  travel.  If  that  violin 
makes  any  worse  noise  than  Philander  made  on 
his  concertina,  /  wouldn't  risk  hearing  it.  Maybe 
I  better  start  for  Chiny  right  now.  'Twould  cost 

344 


MR.    PRATT'S   PATIENTS 

consider'ble  to  go,  but  'twould  be  worth  more'n 
that  to  get  away  from  Philander's  music." 

So,  if  you  don't  find  me  at  the  new  boarding  house 
in  Wapatcmac  this  coming  summer,  you'll  know 
where  I've  gone.  But  don't  give  Philander  my 
address. 


THE    END 


